Chapter 7: Shadows of Stealth, Part 2
[Winterfell Tower - Dawn, Simulation]
[The system's message pulses in your mind, a silent directive: [SIMULATION ONGOING: WARN BRAN STARK]. You press yourself against the cold stone, your breath held in your lungs. Jaime's boots crunch closer, the sound a soft, deadly rhythm against the stone. His sword glints at his hip, a silent promise of violence. Bran climbs higher, the wind tugging at his cloak, a child reaching for the sky. You edge toward him, your Stealth talent muffling your steps. You are a ghost, a shadow, a whisper in the wind. You reach out, your hand hovering over his foot, and you tap his boot, a soft, insistent signal. He pauses, and you tap again, pointing down, a silent, urgent command. He nods, a small, scared gesture, and begins to descend, his movements cautious, a small, frightened animal making its way back to safety.]
Jaime spots Bran's shift. He didn't see you. He just saw the boy, who was no longer climbing, but descending. His face, a mask of cold efficiency, hardens. He begins to climb, swiftly and surely, his armor clinking softly. He is a man of steel and muscle, a lion on the hunt. You have to distract him. You can't stop him, but you can slow him down. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small, smooth pebble. You throw it, not at Bran, not at Jaime, but at the stone wall just above his head. It hits with a sharp, cracking sound, making him slip briefly, a flicker of surprise in his cold green eyes. He curses under his breath, a low, animal growl.
"Damn you, shadow!" he hisses, his eyes scanning the walls, searching for the phantom that is hounding him.
"Just leveling the field, ser," you whisper, the words a silent taunt that you know he can't hear.
"Stealth's keeping me alive, but Bran's still in the crosshairs. I have to do more. I have to be more than a distraction. I have to be a threat. I have to make him focus on me, not on the kid. It's a risk, but it's the only way to get Bran down safely. I have to draw his attention. I have to make him angry."
[Winterfell Tower - Moments Later, Simulation]
[You follow Bran, staying in the shadows, your heart pounding a frantic drum against your ribs. Jaime pursues, a blur of crimson and gold, his movements swift and sure. You know you have to get his attention, and you know the only way to do that is to get close. You wait until he is just a few feet away, and then, with a surge of speed, you tackle his legs, both of you tumbling onto the unforgiving stone. Your ribs are bruised, your back is scraped, but you don't care. You have his attention. He kicks free, his boot a sharp pain in your stomach, and his blade flashes, a silver blur that cuts your arm. The blood is warm and sticky against your skin, a familiar feeling from your previous simulation. But the Stealth talent lets you slip back into hiding, a ghost once more. Bran, seeing his chance, reaches a lower ledge, a safer place. You had done your job. You had bought him time.]
You press yourself into a small crevice in the stone, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your arm is bleeding, a throbbing ache that is a testament to your efforts. You can hear Jaime's enraged curse. He is furious. You had made a fool of him, a simple stablehand with a hidden power. You had bruised his pride.
"You're dead, rat," he snarls, his voice a low, venomous growl.
"Gotta catch me first, ser," you whisper back, your voice a silent taunt.
"Pain's a great motivator. Bran's almost clear. I've done it. I've succeeded. I've gotten him down, and I've survived. This time, I won't die for nothing. This time, I'll get the reward. I'll get the power to fight him for real."
You wait, your body a coiled spring, your senses heightened. You can hear the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the faint sound of a horse neighing. You are a ghost, a phantom, and you are ready for whatever comes next. The simulation is still ongoing, but you know you have won. You have saved the boy, and you have survived. The reward is yours for the taking.
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