Chapter 88

In the land of Westeros, Aegon the Conqueror stood tall, having sired two sons that would shape the fate of his dynasty. From the love he shared with Rhaenys came Aenys, a prince who embodied his mother's gentleness and grace. With Visenya, his more fierce and formidable queen, he had another son, Maegor—a child born with the fire and iron that would soon define his legacy. The realm was divided in its whispers, sensing that the paths of these two brothers would lead to a future where power, loyalty, and ambition would collide.

Meanwhile, far across the Wall, in a land untamed by the laws of Westeros, another lineage of power began to stir. Horus God of Sky, had fallen deeply in love with Aelle, a woman whose spirit matched his fierce heart.

Together, they bore a daughter, Hippolyta, whose future would be the stuff of legend. She would grow to become a figure of immense strength and wisdom, a woman whose name would be spoken with reverence and awe. Hippolyta would defy the norms of the male-dominated wildling clans beyond the Wall, forming her own tribe—one composed entirely of women warriors. Her leadership was fierce, her tactics unmatched, and soon, her tribe became one of the strongest north of the Wall, feared and respected by all. In an unprecedented move, Hippolyta forged alliances with the mysterious Moors, a group long estranged from the wildling tribes, proving her political acumen and establishing her tribe's dominance.

In the North, another tale of love and power unfolded. Mandos, a being of the underworld and mysteries, fell for the fierce and noble Moira Stark, sister of the King in the North, Torrhen Stark. Their union was one that defied the bounds of mortality, as their love seemed to bridge the realms of the living and the dead. Moira gave birth to a son named Zagreus, a child born with the dark allure of the underworld coursing through his veins. Known as the Prince of the Underworld, Zagreus grew up surrounded by the cold winds of the North and the eerie whispers of a world beyond death. His destiny, like that of his father, was shrouded in shadow, and the realms above and below would tremble as his power came into its own.

While all this was happening Merlin stood in the heart of his ancient workshop, a cavernous chamber dimly lit by the glow of arcane symbols etched into the stone walls. His fingers moved with deliberate precision, weaving a delicate thread of magic and machinery together. Before him, suspended in the air by thin chains, was his latest creation—gleaming with metallic musculature and sleek, almost skeletal lines. The figure hung like a dormant titan, its form both awe-inspiring and unsettling.

Suddenly, a soft hum filled the room as Merlin infused it with life. The puppet's chest slowly expanded, simulating breath, its movements unnervingly organic despite the cold metal that made up its body. When its eyes flickered open—pools of golden light—they glowed with an intelligence far beyond mere programming.

The puppet's metallic frame was reinforced with an endoskeleton designed for war, yet Merlin had given it something deeper—a strange mimicry of life. When cut, they bled; a viscous crimson substance oozed from their wounds, as if defying their artificial origin. It was more than just a machine—it could feel, react, even love.

He stepped back, gazing at his work, his brow furrowed. His thoughts drifted toward his wife, whose gentle smile had been his guiding light through many lifetimes, and his adopted sons, who he had sworn to protect. A storm was coming—one that would stretch far beyond the borders of the known world. Merlin knew that he couldn't always be there to shield them.

His eyes narrowed as he whispered a spell, sealing the puppet's core with an intricate layer of protection.

"Soon," he murmured, his voice echoing through the chamber. "I'll leave for Yi Ti. But they will be safe."

The puppet stirred, flexing its metallic limbs with a soft groan, as if waking from a long slumber. Its gaze locked onto Merlin, a silent sentinel ready to serve. No need for breathing gear, no fear of the vacuum of space—it could withstand what most living beings could not. Blood vessels would burst, lungs would collapse, but not this creation.

And yet, as it looked at him, Merlin could sense something stirring within it—something more than just obedience. A glimmer of emotion, perhaps? Was it loyalty, or was it something deeper, something almost human?

He could not tell. But that was the point.

The puppet wasn't just a machine of war. It was a companion, a protector—one capable of forming bonds, even love, with those it was sworn to protect.

The project was complete, but its purpose was just beginning.

[This was an idea from Eternals and Joy of life Wuzhu or one of the Eternals.]