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Seven years old and already there was a war going on, and if he had it his way, he would take no part in it.
But unfortunately for him, it would seem as if the only way to get gacha tickets was to take part in the war, so fuck him.
He could simply just wait for a much easier quest, but something told him that was a fool's bet.
The entire Red Keep had erupted into chaos the moment the Greyjoy rebellion news broke.
Ravens flew out in every direction, their wings cutting through the sky like black knives. Lords and knights shouted orders in the yards, armorers hammered away at breastplates and swords, horses were saddled, and wagons loaded with supplies.
The castle buzzed with the grim energy of mobilization, servants rushing with bundles of provisions, maesters scribbling frantic letters, and smallfolk whispering prayers in every corner.
Even the air smelled different: steel, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of coming bloodshed.
He sat in his mother's private solar, the heavy oak door shut against the noise outside, while Cersei paced slowly before the hearth, her golden hair loose and catching the firelight like molten gold.
She spoke with that low, intense cadence she reserved only for him, her voice velvet over steel.
"When the day comes when you wear the crown, my love," she said, turning to fix him with those sharp emerald eyes, "you must crush anyone foolish enough to rebel. Show them no mercy, not a single drop. The moment weakness is scented, the filthy maggots gather. The Greyjoys are only the first. There will always be more stupid, ambitious men who think they can bite the lion's paw. Burn their homes, drown their banners, make their children watch so the lesson lasts generations. Everyone who is not us is an enemy, never forget that."
It was good advice, ruthless and practical in the brutal logic of a medieval world.
If it weren't for the fact that she delivered it as if the entire world outside their bloodline was already guilty, already plotting against them.
But he wasn't really listening, honestly.
His mind was locked on the glowing blue box still hovering stubbornly in the corner of his vision, the words burning like acid.
How the fuck was he supposed to kill a thousand people? He was seven! Sure, he was growing at an unusually fast rate, but that didn't mean shit when he was going up against a literal army!
And a kraken? A literal sea monster kaiju!? The kind sailors told horror stories about?!
He didn't even know if those things were real until the system told him, let alone how to kill one with just a bloody blade!
The whole quest felt like the system was mocking him, dangling the first real reward after five years of silence, only to demand the impossible.
He was so deep in turmoil, jaw tight and divine eyes hidden behind the crimson bandages, that he barely noticed the soft hands reaching for his face.
Cersei's fingers brushed the fabric with a growing frown, gently tugging at the edges.
"These again," she murmured, displeasure clear in her tone. "You wear it more often with each passing day, my love. You need not hide yourself from me, not here, not when we are alone. I do not like it… It steals your eyes from me, and they are far too beautiful to be kept from my sight."
He smiled faintly, soft, reassuring; the expression he knew melted her resistance, and he gently caught her wrists.
"They help, Mother. As I said before, my eyes are getting stronger, and if I don't cover them, they begin to become too much to handle." But despite saying this, he couldn't help but indulge her a bit.
With careful movements, he unwrapped the bandages himself, letting the crimson cloth fall away.
The world sharpened instantly, the faint glow in his irises shimmering as light hit them.
Cersei's face lit with that familiar mix of awe and possessive hunger, but her smile faltered when she saw his gaze; it wasn't focused on her.
He was staring at the air, his expression filled with confusion.
What the hell is that?
"What is wrong, my love?" she asked, concern threading through her voice.
She reached to cup his cheek to get his attention, but he was already staring past her, brow furrowed.
Tiny flakes floated in the air all around the room.
They drifted like snow, but softer, slower, each one sparkling with shifting colors of all varieties: greens, golds, faint blues, reds, etc.
They moved with lazy grace, swirling in invisible currents, yet they carefully avoided him and his mother, parting around their bodies as if repelled by some unseen force.
He had never seen anything like it before, despite living in it for seven years now.
He didn't answer her question. Instead, he reached out slowly, tracking a particular vibrant green flake that seemed brighter than the rest.
It sped up slightly, darting sideways as if trying to escape his grasp, and it would've been impossible for a normal person to catch without being able to see it, but his eyes followed it easily as if it was moving at a snail's pace.
His hand snapped forward with precision and closed around it.
The moment his fingers made contact, a rush of unknown energy surged through his palm, warm, alive, like the pulse of deep forests and warm earth.
It felt like nature itself, raw and verdant, flooding up his arm and into his chest, causing his breath to be caught in his throat.
"I-Is this magic? This has to be magic, right!?"
Cersei watched in mounting confusion as her son grabbed at empty air, his expression intense, fingers curling as though holding something invisible.
"My love…?"
He rose from his seat without a word and crossed to the small vase by her mirror.
Inside sat a withering flower, petals drooping, edges brown and crisp, stem wilting from lack of care. He extended his hand, still cupped around the captured flake, and gently touched the dead flower.
Green light bloomed from his fingertips.
The flower drank it in greedily as if it were starving. The brown edges receded, petals unfurled with fresh vigor, color flooding back in rich, velvety hues.
Within seconds, it stood tall and perfect, healthier and more vibrant than any flower had a right to be, filling the solar with a magnificent, sweet fragrance that smelled of spring rain and sun-warmed meadows.
"By the Gods!" His mother screamed out.
Cersei's eyes widened in shock, then reverence. Her hand flew to her lips as she stared at the revived bloom, then back at her son.
He, too, was staring at his hand in wonder.
"You brought it back to life," she whispered, voice trembling between fascination and something else. "With just a touch. The gods' blessing… it truly grows stronger every day!"
He finally turned to look at her, the green energy still humming faintly under his skin before disappearing, the floating flakes continuing their lazy dance around the room, avoiding them both.
For the first time in years, a genuine spark of excitement cut through his frustration over the absurd quest.
Whatever these flakes were, whatever this new power meant, it changed things.
Maybe killing a thousand Ironborn and a kraken wasn't quite as impossible as it had seemed five minutes ago.
He offered his mother a small smile, the divine blue of his eyes bright and focused once more.
"It's nothing, Mother," he said softly, though his mind was already racing with possibilities.
Cersei pulled him close again, pressing his head to her chest, her arms wrapping around him with that familiar, all-consuming protectiveness and possessiveness in equal measure.
But this time, there was something sharper in her hold, calculation mixed with wonder.
"My perfect boy," she murmured into his hair.
The blessed prince stared at the sparkling flakes still drifting through the air and wondered just how many more impossible things he might soon be capable of.
The quest still loomed in his vision, brutal and demanding, but for the first time in this life, he didn't feel quite so fucked.
If he could get his hands on another ticket, it would be no different from gaining an entirely new superpower, and depending on what it gave him, his life could become a whole lot easier.
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Cersei watched as her son stood in the center of her room, the revived flower still perfuming the air with impossible sweetness, and began to play with his new gift as naturally as breathing.
Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him reach into empty space again, those divine blue eyes narrowed in concentration.
His fingers closed around nothing, nothing her mortal eyes could see, yet when he opened his palm, a tiny, perfect fire bloomed there, no larger than an apple.
It danced above his skin without burning him, warm golden flames flickering with a life of their own.
He turned his hand slowly, studying it with the calm curiosity of a scholar rather than the wonder of a child, then let the flame drift upward before snuffing it out with a casual thought.
Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it against her ribs. This was no trick, no sleight of hand. This was power, raw, divine, hers.
He reached out once more, and this time a small globe of clear water materialized in his cupped hands, drawn from the air itself as if the very moisture of the room had answered his call.
It shimmered, perfectly spherical, before he tilted his palms and let it pour neatly into an empty goblet on the table without spilling a single drop.
The cup filled to the brim with clean water that smelled faintly of mountain springs.
Cersei's fingers dug into the arms of her chair.
Awe flooded her chest, hot and fierce and possessive as she stared at her perfect boy.
The Seven had not merely returned him to her; they had poured their own essence into his veins, and now it was waking, stretching, revealing itself in ways that made the greatest wonders of the world seem pale and ordinary.
He glanced at her then, catching the hunger in her gaze, and a charming smile curved his lips.
"Would you like to try it too, Mother?" He asked as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, watching him do the impossible.
The question struck her like a lance. For a moment, she could only stare, her usual mask of composed queenly grace cracking.
Excitement surged through her so violently that her hands trembled in her lap and a bright, irrepressible smile broke across her face before she could hide it.
She tried, gods, she tried, not to look pathetic in front of him, not to show how desperately she craved even a taste of what the gods had given only him.
But her body betrayed her: the slight quiver in her shoulders, the way her breath quickened, the flush creeping up her neck.
"Yes," she managed, voice huskier than she intended. "I do~"
He crossed to her without hesitation and gently took both her hands into his own. His touch was warm, steady, far too assured for a boy of only seven namedays.
She watched with anticipation, heart hammering, as he reached into the air with his free hand, plucked something invisible, and carefully placed it into her open palms as though transferring a living spark.
The moment it touched her skin, overwhelming pleasure and warmth exploded through her body.
Power, pure, vibrant, like liquid sunlight mixed with the deep pulse of the earth, flooded every vein, every nerve. It was ecstasy and life all at once, so intense that her vision blurred and her knees weakened.
She gasped, swaying where she sat, certain she would faint from the sheer intensity of it all. How could her son handle it so easily!?
Then his voice cut through the storm, calm and guiding. "Focus, Mother. Think of fire and will it into your hand, it is you who controls the magic."
She obeyed, following his instructions as she made the power bend to her will…
Fire bloomed in her hands, causing her to gasp out in childish wonder.
A bright, living flame ignited in her cupped palms, flickering with golden-red light. It did not burn her. It felt warm and obedient, dancing at her silent command.
Cersei stared at it in stunned wonder, the flames reflecting in her wide green eyes. She looked from the fire to her son, who watched her with those breathtaking eyes and a handsome, happy smile on his face.
The flame guttered out as the borrowed energy spent itself, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and the thunder of her own pulse in her ears.
"How…?" she whispered, voice trembling with awe. "How is this possible?"
He smiled wider, a spark of mischief in those endless depths of his. "Magic~"
The simple, playful answer broke something in her.
Cersei laughed, a bright, genuine sound that rang through the solar, and pulled him fiercely into her arms.
She peppered his face with kisses, pressing her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, the soft waves of his black hair, unable to stop herself.
He was hers.
This power, this miracle, this beautiful, radiant boy who could command magic and life from nothing, he was hers.
Her son accepted his fate with quiet amusement, letting her shower him with affection until she finally drew back, cheeks flushed and eyes shining darkly with more than just motherly love.
Then his expression grew serious, the playfulness vanishing behind the calm, calculating prince she had raised.
"Mother," he said, voice steady and clear, "I need you to find me the best blacksmith in the city. The absolute finest. Not the royal armorer, someone truly skilled, preferably one who works with Valyrian steel or the rarest metals. Bring him here quietly and tell no one else."
Cersei studied him for a long moment, her mind already racing ahead. She did not question why; instead, a smile curved her lips.
"Of course, my love," she murmured, brushing a stray lock from his forehead as she planted another kiss that was dangerously close to his lips. "Anything for my beautiful son."
Outside her solar, the Red Keep continued its frantic preparations for war, shouts echoing in the yards, the clang of hammers, the stamp of warhorses.
But inside, Cersei Lannister held her son close, her heart alight with a new and terrifying joy.
The gods had given her a miracle once.
Now they were giving her power itself, wrapped in the form of her perfect boy.
Whatever he was planning with that blacksmith, whatever grand design burned behind those divine eyes, she would ensure it came to pass.
She would do anything for her blessed prince.