Chapter 21

As Jon and his companions neared Gulltown, his eagle Aquila flew high above, a spectral observer of the Trident's camp. Through the Warg Bond, Jon could see the scene unfolding below. He felt the sharpness of the eagle's vision and the thrill of the bird's flight, a perspective that offered a unique vantage point for observing the royal party's breakfast.

Okay, folks, time for a quick refresher course on how not to do family dynamics: first, breakfast with King Robert, aka Mr. 'My Wine Is My Breakfast.' On today's menu: hearty wine and questionable life choices. Gotta love those morning routines. And yes, I'm watching this unfold like a nosy neighbor peeking through the curtains. Don't judge.

Ned Stark sat with King Robert at a long wooden table, where the scent of roasting meat and baked bread mingled with the fresh morning air. Robert, ever the boisterous king, guzzled wine like it was water. "Nothing like a good breakfast and a fine wine to start the day, eh, Ned?" he boomed, wiping his mouth with a grin that suggested he was in his own little world.

Robert's wine-soaked grin is almost as entertaining as watching a train wreck. I bet Ned's thinking, 'I hope my kids don't end up like this guy.'

Ned Stark, trying to balance the king's antics with his own worries, replied, "Indeed, Your Grace. Though I'm not sure if wine is the best choice for breakfast."

Robert's booming laughter shook the table. "Ah, you Northern folk and your sober ways! Down here, we believe in enjoying life's pleasures whenever we can. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?"

Arya, Bran, and Sansa were scattered around, with Arya's curiosity making her the most animated of the bunch. Bran was captivated by the knights' tales, while Sansa maintained her dignified distance, likely dreaming of a royal life in King's Landing.

Ned observed his children, a rare smile softening his usually stern face. Despite the chaos and uncertainty ahead, he found solace in his children's fleeting happiness.

Here's a thought: what's the chance that Ned's secretly hoping his kids will grow up to be, you know, normal? Well, normal for Westeros. They're probably just going to end up as pawns in some epic game of thrones, if history is any guide.

Robert, noticing Ned's distraction, leaned in, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "You're thinking about Jon, aren't you?" he asked, the gentleness of his voice surprising given his usual bluster.

Ned sighed. "I can't help but worry about him. He's in Essos now, with all its dangers. I hope he finds his place there."

Robert grunted. "Jon's a strong lad. He'll be fine. Besides, he's got the blood of the North in him. He'll thrive."

Ned, appreciating Robert's attempt to reassure him, nodded. "I hope you're right, Robert. I truly do."

As the children finished their meal and prepared to explore the Trident, Ned instructed Jory Cassel to keep a vigilant watch over them. Sansa joined reluctantly, casting glances back at the camp.

And now we get to the juicy part of the day's drama: Robert and Ned's epic showdown about Sansa and Joffrey. Picture it like a wrestling match but with less sweat and more political maneuvering.

Robert leaned back, his expression growing serious. "Ned, we need to talk about Sansa and Joffrey."

Ned's tension spiked. "Robert, we've discussed this. I don't want to force my daughters into marriages against their will."

Robert's frustration was evident. "Ned, this isn't just about what they want. This is about the future of our houses, the stability of the realm. A union between House Stark and House Baratheon would solidify our alliance."

Ned's voice was steady, but his thoughts raced. "I understand that, Robert. But Sansa is still young, and Joffrey... he is not the kind of boy I want my daughter to be tied to."

Robert's eyes narrowed. "You know as well as I do that we can't always choose who we marry. Duty often comes before personal desires. You've always understood that."

Ned looked away, troubled. The real reason for his reluctance went beyond personal feelings. The prospect of Jon asserting his claim to the throne weighed heavily, especially as Robert's health deteriorated. The thought of tying his family so closely to the Baratheons, only for that to potentially make them targets, was a risk Ned couldn't ignore.

"Robert," Ned began, "my loyalty to you and the realm is unwavering. But I must consider what's best for my children. Sansa is just a girl, and Joffrey... he needs to grow and mature before we can even think about such an arrangement."

Robert's expression softened slightly, though he remained resolute. "I know you're trying to protect your children, Ned. But we must think of the bigger picture. The realm needs strong alliances, especially now."

Ned met Robert's gaze, his resolve firm. "I promise you, I will consider the matter carefully. But for now, let's not rush into decisions that could shape the rest of their lives."

Robert sighed, clearly frustrated but willing to let the matter rest. "Very well, Ned. But don't take too long. The realm waits for no one."

As the conversation ended, Ned felt the weight of their future pressing down on him. Each decision carried immense consequences, and he hoped to navigate these treacherous waters with caution.

Meanwhile, I'm up here, enjoying the bird's-eye view, thinking about how this soap opera is just the prelude to the real action. And by action, I mean my impending arrival in Gulltown. Let's just hope the future doesn't end up looking like a bad soap opera episode with dragons.

—-

As Jon and his companions disembarked in Gulltown, he cast a quick glance skyward. Thanks to his Warg Bond with Aquila the Eagle, he had a clear view of the Trident, where Sansa and Jeyne Poole strolled by the riverbank. The scene unfolded like a picturesque painting, but Jon's mind was already in high gear, analyzing every detail from his elevated vantage point.

Oh great, another day, another use for my supernatural bird-watching abilities. This is so much better than binge-watching TV shows from my old life. Jon thought, rolling his eyes inwardly. I mean, who needs Netflix when you've got a magical eagle, right?

He could see Sansa's contemplative expression, her mood seemingly lifted by the tranquility of the river and the lush scenery. Jon felt a twinge of sympathy for her. After all, he knew all too well the pressure of navigating courtly expectations and the disillusionment that often followed.

Here's the plot twist you didn't see coming: Sansa was originally head over heels for Joffrey, the epitome of prince charming. Now, she's getting a front-row seat to the real-life horror show.

From his aerial viewpoint, Jon watched as Sansa's initial excitement about Joffrey gave way to reality. The prince had revealed his true colors, and it wasn't pretty. Jon had to admit, the whole Joffrey debacle was like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Jeyne Poole, ever perceptive, noticed Sansa's mood shift and gently probed. "You've been quiet, Sansa. What's on your mind?"

Sansa sighed deeply, her gaze lost in the rippling water. "I was just thinking about how different everything is from what I imagined. Joffrey... he isn't at all like the prince I dreamed of. It's like the fairy tales I used to believe in were a lie."

Jeyne's eyes softened with understanding. "It's a harsh reality, isn't it? But you're not alone in this. I'm here for you, no matter what."

Sansa glanced at her friend, gratitude in her eyes. "I know, Jeyne. I'm lucky to have you by my side. I just wish things were different."

Jeyne squeezed Sansa's hand reassuringly. "We'll get through this. There's more to life than what we see right now. And who knows, maybe someday we'll look back and find that these moments made us stronger."

Sansa nodded, her expression a mix of hope and resignation. "I hope so. I really do."

Oh, the drama! The betrayal! All over Joffrey, the kid who makes Voldemort look like a stand-up comedian. Seriously, who writes these plotlines?

Jon saw Jeyne's comforting gesture, squeezing Sansa's hand in support. It was a small but meaningful gesture, showing the strength of their friendship. Sansa's fears and doubts were palpable, and it was clear she needed her friend's support to navigate the emotional storm she was facing.

Sansa's like the heroine of a soap opera, and Jeyne's the loyal sidekick. Somewhere in the background, a sad violin plays.

As the girls continued their walk along the riverbank, Sansa expressed a wistful hope to return someday, her gaze fixed on the beauty of the Trident. Jeyne echoed her sentiment, reinforcing the bond between them.

And here I am, the magical birdwatcher with a front-row seat to teenage angst and riverbank dreams. This is what I signed up for.

Jon's attention shifted back to the present as he and his team prepared to move forward. While Sansa and Jeyne's journey was unfolding in its own way, Jon knew he had his own path to navigate. He had to stay focused on the mission at hand, even if it meant keeping an eye on the unfolding soap opera from a distance.

Well, looks like it's time to stop watching from the sidelines and get back to the adventure. Just another day in the life of a transmigrated teenager with a magical eagle. Classic.

---

Jon Snow and Rhea were relaxing in their room at an inn in Gulltown, the evening settling into a calm lull broken only by the clinks of mugs and low murmur of the patrons downstairs. Jon lounged on the bed, a book open but forgotten as his thoughts wandered elsewhere. His spirit was high above the Trident, connected to Aquila the Eagle through their Warg Bond.

Ah, the joys of being a teenage transmigrator in a medieval fantasy. Jon's inner monologue dripped with sarcasm. Here I am, brooding like a discount Batman, while my younger brother and  sister have a pretend sword fight. It's like watching a soap opera, only with more mud and fewer commercials.

From his bird's-eye view, Jon observed Arya and Bran, accompanied by the butcher's boy, Mycah, engaged in an enthusiastic mock battle. Just when it seemed like a quiet evening, Joffrey Baratheon stormed in, his entourage of Sandor Clegane adding a menacing edge. 

Of course, the universe isn't content with just letting people enjoy their evening. Joffrey's here to turn a game of pretend knights into a full-blown royal drama.

Joffrey brandished his sword with all the maturity of a toddler denied candy, his eyes flashing with the kind of fury usually reserved for bad hair days. Jon couldn't help but let his inner Deadpool run wild.

Look at him, folks—Joffrey Baratheon, our resident rage machine. What's next? Is he going to challenge them to a duel because someone ate the last piece of pie?

The scene escalated as King Robert, Ned Stark, and Ser Barristan Selmy arrived, Robert's thunderous voice slicing through the tension.

"Joffrey, put that sword down. Now," Robert ordered, his tone a blend of frustration and authority.

Ah, the sweet melody of parental command. Jon's inner monologue reveled in the moment. Nothing like a father figure showing some much-needed discipline. Seriously, Joffrey, just drop the sword before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.

Joffrey, visibly deflated, lowered his sword but not without shooting a venomous glare at Arya, Bran and Mycah. Robert, still fuming, sent the prince off with Sandor Clegane in tow. Ned Stark moved to check on Arya, his concern palpable. Robert, trying to lighten the mood, praised Arya's bravery.

Oh, look at that—Robert's playing the hero after all. Jon's thoughts turned to a mix of amusement and curiosity. Ned's being the ever-steadfast father, and Robert's doing his best to salvage a scene that's gone way off-script.

Ned's reassuring words and Robert's praise brought a smile to Arya's face, but Jon's attention shifted back to the room. Rhea was now in the midst of changing, her movements purposeful and deliberate. She approached Jon with a look that spoke volumes, making his heart skip a beat.

Oh, great. Just when I thought the drama was all on the Trident, Jon thought, his inner voice blending anticipation with levity. Now I'm about to dive into my own bit of medieval soap opera. Nothing like a dose of post-battle action to round off the day. And people thought transmigration was all about dragon fights and kingdom-saving. Ha!

Jon slid off the bed, his focus now entirely on Rhea as he moved closer. The juxtaposition of the day's dramatic events and their private moment created a tension all its own.

Let's keep the medieval melodrama to a minimum and the romance to a maximum. After all, if you're going to be caught up in a soap opera, you might as well enjoy the best parts.

—

Jon lay in bed, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he stared up at the ceiling. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows around the room. Beside him, Rhea's breathing was slow and steady, the aftermath of their shared passion still lingering in the air. Damn, I should get some sort of medal for that. Or at least a pat on the back. Hell, if you're watching this, you're probably thinking, "Jon, you smooth bastard." He grinned to himself, basking in the post-coital haze. But duty calls.

With a soft sigh, he quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Rhea, and moved to the small table by the window. There, the soft light of the moon illuminated the room just enough for him to see what he was doing. As he settled into the chair, the air around him shimmered, and Hestia materialized, her presence as ethereal as ever. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous excitement that Jon had come to associate with her.

"Ready for this month's Gacha Roll Session, Jon?" Hestia asked, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation.

Jon nodded, his face now wearing that familiar serious expression that screamed, I'm about to save the world—again. "Aye, let's get started," he said, trying to channel his inner brooding hero. You know, the type who saves the world while naked after a good shag.

Hestia gestured toward the virtual wheel of fortune that appeared before them, shimmering with possibilities like a slot machine designed by the gods themselves. "You've got two options, Jon," she explained, her tone slipping into 'game show host' territory. "You can use all 5000 points for 50 random rolls, which could give you a variety of items, abilities, and characters. Or, you can use them for 10 rolls of Character Cards only, ensuring you get specific allies."

Jon pondered for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. Let's see… do I go for the mystery box, or do I play it safe? It's like choosing between a dragon egg and a Kinder Surprise. He smirked. Actually, a Kinder Surprise is kind of like a dragon egg, except without the fire-breathing reptile that wants to kill you.

"Characters are what we need most right now," Jon decided, trying to sound all heroic and shit. "Let's go with the 10 rolls of Character Cards."

Hestia nodded approvingly, clearly pleased with his choice. "A wise choice. Let's see who we can summon to aid you on your journey."

Jon initiated the first roll with a thought, and the wheel spun rapidly, colors blending together in a psychedelic whirl that reminded him of too many late nights playing video games back in his real world. If this lands on 'Go to Jail,' I'm quitting this game right now. The wheel slowed, revealing a golden segment. Hestia gasped in excitement.

"A rare character card!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious. "This is a good start."

The image on the card gradually sharpened, revealing a man in a distinctive green hood, armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Jon squinted, recognizing the figure from countless comics he'd read. Wait a minute… is that…

"This is Oliver Queen, also known as Green Arrow," Hestia explained eagerly, clearly having no idea that Jon was fanboying on the inside. "He's an expert archer, skilled in combat, and a master tactician."

Jon's eyes widened, his mind racing. Holy shit, I just got Green Arrow. Take that, Batman fanboys! He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. "His skills could be incredibly useful," he said in that gravelly voice he used when trying to sound like a man of few words. And by useful, I mean totally badass.

Hestia nodded, practically bouncing on her toes. "Absolutely. His abilities and knowledge will be a great asset to you."

Jon leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. Now if only I could roll a card that gets me out of this screwed-up version of Westeros… But for now, he'd settle for Green Arrow. And maybe, just maybe, they'd all live happily ever after. Or at least long enough for me to roll another 5000 points.

—

As the next roll of the wheel commenced, Jon leaned in, half-expecting the usual disappointment that came with these things. Seriously, what are the odds we get something good twice in a row? I mean, this is the kind of luck that makes you think the universe might actually give a damn about you for once.

The wheel clicked, slowing down dramatically, and landed on another rare segment. Hestia practically bounced in her seat, her excitement infectious. 

"Another character card!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with the same enthusiasm a kid has for Christmas morning. "Let's see who's next."

The image began to form, pixel by pixel, revealing a man with a look that screamed, "I'm too serious for your nonsense," all while decked out in a tactical suit and wielding a bow that looked like it could shoot the wings off a fly.

"This is Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye," Hestia announced, her tone bordering on reverence. "Another expert archer and a skilled combatant. His accuracy and strategic mind are unparalleled."

Jon tilted his head, studying the image. Ah, another archer. Because clearly one Robin Hood wannabe wasn't enough. What's next? An entire team of them?

But he had to admit, it was a good pull. "Having both Green Arrow and Hawkeye on our side will strengthen our group significantly," Jon said, slipping into his best "I'm a brooding medieval hero" voice, as if he hadn't been internally cackling like a madman a second ago.

Hestia nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with the kind of hope only fictional characters and hopeless romantics could muster. "Indeed. Their combined skills will provide valuable support in any challenges ahead."

Jon leaned back in his chair, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips. Assembling quite the team here. If I keep this up, I might just survive whatever madness comes next. Or at least go out in a blaze of glory worthy of a heavily-edited PG-13 blockbuster.

"We're assembling quite the team," he echoed out loud, letting his inner monologue fade into the background, for now.

Hestia smiled warmly at him, the kind of smile that made you think everything was going to be okay. Oh, sweet summer child, Jon thought, if only you knew the kind of crap we're about to dive headfirst into. But hey, that's the fun part, right?

"Yes," Hestia agreed, her voice full of optimism, "and I believe they will prove indispensable in the trials to come."

Let's just hope we don't run into any more surprise dragons or undead armies before lunch. A guy's gotta have priorities.

—

Jon watched as Hestia gestured towards the virtual wheel again. It was like being in some kind of medieval game show, except instead of winning a goat, you got superheroes. Not that I'd complain about a goat, mind you. Goats are freaking adorable. And delicious. Sorry, PETA.

"Let's see who fate has in store for us," Hestia said, with all the calm authority of a goddess who knew the universe had her back. Or at least a really good hand of cards.

Jon gave a nod, his expression serious as he rolled the wheel again. Seriously, I've been in this world long enough to know that when a goddess tells you to spin a magical wheel, you just do it. Don't question it, don't think too hard about it. Just spin and hope you don't end up with something that'll eat you for breakfast.

The wheel spun in a blur of colors, slowing down until it landed on a new Character Card. The image on the card materialized, and there she was—Damn. Hello, red.—a woman with striking features, a sleek black suit, and fiery red hair that screamed danger. Her eyes looked like they could assess you, find your weaknesses, and then take you down before you even realized what happened.

"This is Natasha Romanoff, also known as Black Widow," Hestia explained, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. And by 'explained,' she means, 'You're in over your head, Snow. Try not to drool.' "She's a highly skilled spy, martial artist, and tactician. Her expertise in infiltration and combat will be invaluable."

Jon studied the image of Black Widow thoughtfully, though his inner thoughts were anything but calm. Right. Like I needed another reminder that everyone here could kick my ass six ways to Sunday. What's next, the Hulk? Wait, no, shut up, Jon. Don't give the wheel ideas.

He nodded, keeping his cool. "Her abilities will complement Green Arrow and Hawkeye perfectly. We're fortunate to have her on our side." And by 'fortunate,' I mean, 'Please don't kill me with those thighs of death.'

Hestia nodded in agreement, still the picture of serenity. "Absolutely. With her skills, she can handle situations that require finesse and precision." 

Finesse and precision, Jon thought, smirking inwardly. Just the kind of words you use when you're too polite to say 'She'll end you before you know what hit you.' He glanced at the virtual wheel, already mentally bracing himself for whatever might come next. Because if it is the Hulk, I'm jumping off this metaphorical cliff and taking my chances with the White Walkers.

—

Hestia gestured toward the virtual wheel with a smile. "Let's see who our next companion will be."

Jon nodded, feeling a surge of excitement as he spun the wheel. The colors swirled together, flashing by like a psychedelic fever dream—seriously, who came up with this thing? Willy Wonka?—until it finally slowed and landed on a Character Card.

The image on the card sharpened into focus, revealing a striking woman with blonde hair, dressed in a sleek black outfit, her jacket adorned with a golden bird motif. Okay, she looks like she could kick my ass and then make me thank her for it.

"This is Dinah Laurel Lance, also known as Black Canary," Hestia explained, her voice calm and composed as ever. "She possesses a powerful sonic scream and is highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Her abilities in both offense and defense will be invaluable to our team."

Jon stared at the card, taking in Black Canary's confident stance. A sonic scream? Like, she could literally yell me to death. Hot. Out loud, he managed to keep his voice as steady as Old Nan reciting a scary bedtime story. "Her combat prowess will add another layer of strength to our group. We're fortunate to have her join us."

Hestia nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Black Canary's skills will provide essential support in close-quarters combat and situations that require swift, decisive action."

Jon couldn't help but grin, feeling the camaraderie growing among their assembled team. We've got a goddess, a human can opener, and now a scream queen. We're assembling quite the formidable group. I'm either leading the most epic squad of all time or the weirdest band of misfits ever seen. Out loud, he simply said, "Aye, that we are."

—

Hestia's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. She clapped her hands together, practically bouncing with excitement. "Alright, let's see who fate decides to send our way this time."

Jon, trying to match her energy (but let's be real, no one can), nodded and gave the wheel another spin. Colors blurred together in a dizzying whirl before slowing down and finally stopping on another Character Card. 

The card shimmered to life, revealing a man who looked like he could make Batman wet his pants. Rugged, battle-worn, and decked out in tactical gear, the dude had a skull emblem on his chest that screamed, "I'm not here to play."

Hestia, ever the fountain of exposition, gestured toward the card. "This is Frank Castle, also known as The Punisher. He's a highly skilled marksman, hand-to-hand combatant, and expert in guerrilla warfare. His relentless pursuit of justice and willingness to take on the toughest challenges make him a formidable addition to any team."

Jon studied the image of The Punisher, his mind racing. So, we've got a walking, talking action movie who's also a one-man murder squad. Great. Just what we needed—a guy who makes the Hound look like a cuddly puppy. Who am I kidding? This is awesome!

Out loud, Jon kept it cool, because medieval wannabe king and all. "His combat skills and tactical acumen will be invaluable. With him on our side, we'll be better prepared for any threats we face."

Hestia nodded like they'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Absolutely. The Punisher's expertise in handling dangerous situations and his unwavering commitment to his mission will strengthen our group significantly."

Translation: This dude's going to kill everything that looks at us funny. But hey, when the world's out to get you, it's nice to have your very own murder Santa on speed dial. Let's just hope he doesn't decide we're all on his naughty list.

—

As Hestia's eyes gleamed with excitement, she waved her hand towards the wheel. "Let's see who our next ally will be," she said, her voice bubbling with anticipation.

Jon nodded, feeling that familiar mix of dread and excitement. He gripped the wheel and gave it a hard spin, watching as it whirled around in a blur of colors. Come on, no whammies, no whammies… The wheel slowed, and finally, it clicked to a stop on another Character Card. 

The image emerged, revealing a man who looked like he'd seen some serious shit—rugged, weathered, with a face that screamed, I've killed things you wouldn't believe. He was decked out in armor that looked like it had taken a beating but could still dish one out. Two swords hung at his sides, the kind that probably had names like "Decapitator" and "Seriously, Don't Try It."

Hestia leaned in, her voice filled with reverence. "This is Geralt of Rivia. Renowned monster hunter, skilled swordsman, and wielder of powerful magic. His expertise in combat, tracking, and handling supernatural threats will be invaluable to our team."

Geralt of Rivia? Jon thought, trying to maintain his stoic facade. Why do I feel like I'm about to team up with someone who could make Batman look like a Boy Scout? He studied the card, nodding as if he totally knew who Geralt was and wasn't slightly intimidated by the sheer badassery radiating from the image. 

"His experience with monsters and magic will provide a unique advantage," Jon said aloud, in his best solemn, 'I am the sword in the darkness' voice. "With him on our side, we'll be prepared for any supernatural challenges we encounter."

Because, let's be honest, we're probably going to need a guy who can cut a monster in half before it even realizes it's dead.

Hestia's enthusiasm was infectious. "Indeed. Geralt's resilience, versatility, and determination to fulfill his contracts make him a formidable addition to our group."

Resilience, versatility, determination… and probably a metric ton of brooding. Jon gave Hestia a nod, trying to keep the Deadpool running commentary from spilling out of his mouth. If we survive this, remind me to never piss this guy off. Ever.

—

Hestia's eyes gleamed with that all-too-familiar look of excitement as she gestured towards the virtual wheel. "Let's see who fate brings us next."

Jon nodded, his heart hammering with anticipation as he gave the wheel a spin. Colors blurred together in a dizzying whirl until the wheel finally slowed, landing on another Character card. The image slowly sharpened into view, revealing a young woman with a regal stance and an aura of mystery. Her eyes held a blend of determination and innocence, and her attire screamed royalty mixed with the kind of magical heritage that just begged for its own spin-off series.

"This is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, also known as Ciri," Hestia introduced with a hint of reverence. "She's a princess of Cintra and a powerful source of Elder Blood. Ciri possesses extraordinary abilities—teleportation, swordsmanship, and a magical aptitude that would put most wizards to shame. Her presence will bring both strength and wisdom to our team."

Wait, wait, wait... Did she just say teleportation? Because I can think of about 100 ways that would have come in handy while dodging White Walkers. And don't get me started on swordsmanship—like I don't have enough inferiority complexes already.

Jon stared at the image of Ciri, trying his best to keep up the whole "stoic warrior" vibe, though his mind was spiraling. "Her magical abilities and combat skills will be invaluable," he said, his voice steady, which is more than I can say for the internal panic attack happening in my head right now. "With her on our side, we'll have a powerful asset against any mystical threats we encounter."

And, by "we," I mean "her," because let's be real—I'll probably just be standing there pretending like I know what I'm doing while she's out there saving our collective asses.

Hestia nodded enthusiastically, her excitement bubbling over. "Absolutely. Ciri's resilience, courage, and connection to the mystical Elder Blood make her a formidable addition to our group."

Yeah, and considering the world consists of a guy who likes to shag his sister and another who's idea of a good time was carving up direwolves, this is a serious upgrade.

Jon kept his face impassive, though inwardly, he couldn't help but feel a surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this whole team thing wouldn't be so bad after all. Or maybe I'll just continue to be the broody guy who's constantly out of his depth. Either way, we're in for one hell of a ride.

—

As Hestia's eyes sparkled with anticipation, she gestured toward the virtual wheel again. "Let's see who joins our group next."

Jon, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline, initiated the next roll. The wheel spun in a blur of colors, each segment a potential game-changer. Come on, big money, no whammies, he thought, though he knew better than to say that out loud. You'd think I was on a game show, not assembling a team to save the world… or whatever it is we're doing.

The wheel slowed, the colors blending into a dizzying swirl until it finally settled on another Character card. The image on the card slowly emerged, revealing a woman who looked like she could casually incinerate you with a glance, then do it again just for kicks. Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing a face that exuded both beauty and a hint of "don't mess with me if you value your limbs." She wore an outfit that screamed sophistication, with just enough edge to let you know she wasn't playing around.

"This is Yennefer of Vengerberg," Hestia announced, like she was revealing the winner of a prestigious award. "She's a powerful sorceress with centuries of experience, skilled in manipulating the arcane arts and wielding formidable magic. Yennefer's intelligence, resourcefulness, and unwavering determination make her a force to be reckoned with."

Jon studied the image of Yennefer with a mix of awe and mild terror. Holy hell, she looks like she'd rip my spine out through my nose if I looked at her funny. He forced his voice into the low, serious tone that Jon Snow was known for. "Her mastery of magic will be invaluable to our group. With her on our side, we'll have formidable mystical support."

Smooth, Jon. Real smooth. Now all you have to do is not accidentally piss her off and you might survive this.

Hestia nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. Yennefer's knowledge of ancient lore and her ability to harness powerful spells will enhance our capabilities significantly."

Enhance our capabilities? Jon thought, his inner Deadpool voice kicking in. More like she'll turn me into a Jon Snow popsicle if I don't watch my step. This is gonna be fun… in a 'please don't kill me' kind of way.

He kept his expression stoic, but inside, Jon was already wondering how long it would take before Yennefer would find a reason to teach him the true meaning of magical discipline. Note to self: Do not, under any circumstances, ask her what it's like to be a 'Dandelion distress signal.'

—

Hestia's eyes sparkled with excitement as she waved toward the virtual wheel, her enthusiasm contagious. "Let's see who'll be joining us next," she said, her voice practically humming with anticipation.

Jon nodded, his heart doing a little jig in his chest. Please be someone badass. Please be someone badass, he silently chanted as he initiated the roll. The wheel spun, a blur of colors and possibilities, before it began to slow. Jon leaned forward, his breath caught in his throat. C'mon, fate, don't screw me over. No more squishy wizards or emo knights, I need someone who can actually keep up in a fight.

The wheel finally came to a stop, and an image faded into view. It was a man with a devil-may-care grin, a trench coat that screamed "too cool for you," and a deck of playing cards in hand that were practically glowing with kinetic energy. Oh, and he looked like he was about to hustle the hell out of you at poker.

"This is Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit," Hestia announced with a flourish. "He's a mutant with the ability to charge objects with explosive energy. Gambit is skilled in hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and using his unique powers strategically."

Jon studied the card, his mind already racing. Oh, hell yes. This guy looks like he could charm the pants off a White Walker and then blow them up just for fun. Finally, someone who knows how to make an entrance. And those cards? Totally not compensating for anything. But seriously, I'm just relieved it's not another brooding swordsman or angsty orphan.

He cleared his throat, slipping into his usual serious tone because, hey, gotta keep up appearances. "His abilities with kinetic energy will bring a new dynamic to our team," Jon said, trying to sound as though he hadn't just mentally fist-bumped himself. "With him on our side, we'll have someone who can handle both close-quarters combat and tricky situations with finesse."

Hestia's nod was enthusiastic enough to make her ponytail bounce. "Absolutely! Gambit's agility, quick thinking, and resourcefulness will complement our group's strengths perfectly."

Agility, quick thinking, resourcefulness… and let's not forget a healthy dose of 'I'm too sexy for this battlefield' swagger. We're really leveling up here. Jon allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. Things were definitely looking up. Now if only we could avoid any of those weird crossover love triangles…

—

Hestia's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she pointed to the virtual wheel. "Ready for our next recruit?"

Jon gave a nod, his excitement barely contained. "Let's see who's up next."

He spun the wheel with a dramatic flourish, watching as it whirled through a kaleidoscope of colors. The wheel gradually slowed, coming to a halt on a new character card. The image on the card was a striking one: a woman with vivid blue skin, her eyes gleaming yellow with an air of cunning intelligence. Her form seemed to shift and shimmer, hinting at her shapeshifting abilities.

Hestia beamed. "This is Raven Darkholme, also known as Mystique. She's a mutant with the power of shapeshifting. Mystique excels in espionage, infiltration, and combat. Her ability to transform into anyone makes her perfect for gathering information and navigating tricky situations."

Jon eyed the image with interest. "Shapeshifting, you say? Sounds like she could really mix things up. We could use someone who can change identities on the fly. Her skills would be a huge asset in dealing with espionage and infiltration."

Oh, great, another person who can mess with faces. Just what we needed. Next thing you know, she'll be impersonating me and stealing my ice cream. Or worse, my hair products. And believe me, you do not want to mess with the hair products.

Hestia nodded enthusiastically. "Mystique's adaptability and strategic mind will definitely strengthen our team."

Jon nodded, his gaze fixed on the card. "Aye, it seems she'll be a valuable addition. The more we can adapt to different situations, the better."

—

As Hestia and Jon prepared for the final spin of their Gacha session, the atmosphere crackled with excitement. Jon could barely contain his anticipation, thinking about the amazing squad they had already assembled. Green Arrow, Hawkeye, Black Widow, Black Canary, The Punisher, Geralt of Rivia, Ciri, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Gambit, and Mystique—now, who would complete their legendary team?

Hestia's eyes gleamed with anticipation as she gestured towards the virtual wheel. "Let's see who our final ally will be."

Jon nodded, his heart racing as he initiated the final roll. The wheel whirred, spinning like a caffeinated hamster in a wheel, and colors blurred together before it finally slowed down, landing on a rare segment. Hestia held her breath, her excitement palpable.

Oh, boy. Here it comes. Please don't let it be another version of Captain America with a new shield. I swear, if it is, I'm going to need a whole new set of sarcasm. 

"Another character card!" Hestia's voice rang out, barely containing her joy. "This journey has truly brought us exceptional companions."

The card materialized, revealing a woman with fiery red hair and a serene expression. Her attire combined elegance with practicality, hinting at a deep connection to magic and the arcane arts.

Hot redhead alert! And she's not just here to look pretty—she's got some serious magic skills. Please don't let her have a tragic backstory involving a lost love or a cursed family.

"This is Triss Merigold," Hestia said, her smile infectious. "She's a talented sorceress known for her mastery of fire magic and healing spells. Triss is also skilled in diplomacy, making her invaluable in negotiations and navigating delicate situations."

Jon studied the image of Triss, noting the mix of elegance and power. "Her expertise in magic and diplomacy will be a great asset to our team. With her on our side, we'll have someone who can support us both in battle and in forging alliances."

Finally, someone who can heal my wounds, and my bruised ego after all this Gacha rolling. Triss, don't let me down. We need your fire magic and diplomatic skills more than ever.

Hestia's enthusiasm was clear. "Absolutely. Triss's magical prowess, compassionate nature, and ability to heal wounds will enhance our group's capabilities significantly."

Jon gave a warm smile, feeling a swell of pride for the diverse and talented team they had brought together. "We've gathered an exceptional group of allies."

Hestia mirrored his smile, her eyes shining with pride. "Yes, and together, they will undoubtedly face whatever challenges lie ahead with courage, unity, and strength."

And with that, folks, our Gacha session ends. Next time, I'll try to avoid rolling for extra sidekicks. Or not. We'll see.

---

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