This was magic from the same source as the Weirwood Tree. Klay was even certain that at the end of the threads, blocked by his vision, there was a connection to Winterfell, and even the largest Weirwood Tree in The North.
In the empty hall of Winterfell, little Bran rested his head on Klay's shoulder. The young boy's face was filled with a cute smile mixed with a touch of slight bewilderment.
Klay steeled himself, and his magic pool, like a spool, dramatically increased its suction. He wasn't absorbing the magical threads from Bran anymore, but instead, he started to pull on the invisible thread passing through the wall.
Klay wanted to see what he could pull out!
Within seconds, the thread went from slack to taut. Klay clearly felt a strange pulling force. It wasn't his sense of touch telling him this, but rather, it was directly reflected in his brain.
Let's try again!
Aside from Klay, no one present could see these magical threads. In their eyes, Klay was simply showing affection for Bran. Neither they nor Klay noticed that a raven had suddenly flown into the open hall.
This raven, completely black, landed on the chandelier. Its deep yellow eyes turned, staring at Klay's back with a very human-like, cold gaze. Its gaze was full of hostility.
Klay's Witcher senses were at their peak. He patted Bran on the back, pretending to chat with him about bringing Bran some things he liked next time they met.
But in reality, he had been pulling on a thread of magic that was about to snap. He could almost hear the magic thread groaning.
Suddenly, Klay felt a strong smell of decay. He said "felt" rather than "smelled" because it was also directly filling his brain, making Klay instinctively uncomfortable.
And within this smell, Klay also felt a chilling cold, as if a mountain of ice that had never melted in ten thousand years was standing behind him.
"Snap." A phantom sound of breaking echoed, but no one heard it. That thread of magic had finally exhausted its power and was torn into two pieces by Klay.
Like a tentacle, the end connected to the unknown part quickly retracted. And at Bran's end, with the breaking of the magic thread, the magic threads wrapped around Bran were like the tendrils of a plant that had lost their nutrients, becoming dry and withered in an instant. Finally, they turned into a gray color representing death and dissipated into the air.
Before he could even think about this sudden change, a hoarse murmur suddenly sounded in Klay's ear: "You win, Other God's Emissary."
A huge pulling force suddenly appeared in every part of Klay's body. Before Klay could react, his vision blurred, and his mind was filled with chaos.
When he could see clearly again, the expression on Klay's face froze.
Everything before him told him that his body was no longer in the Winterfell hall.
"You seem surprised, Other God's Emissary."
A pale, monotonous voice came from behind him. Klay snapped back to attention and saw a figure cloaked in black.
"Who are you?" Klay asked in a low voice, simultaneously raising his hand to form a sign.
A pale yellow circular shield appeared, enveloping Klay within it.
The Witcher Sign - Quen!
"I... am but a withered bone." The figure walked closer and removed his hood.
Snow-white hair hung down, but it appeared withered and distorted. He had only one eye, with a pupil as red as blood.
Roots of some kind of plant emerged from his missing eye socket, and some fungi grew on his forehead.
This appearance... it was somewhat reminiscent of the nature-related gods and spirits of certain mythologies, but Klay could feel that there wasn't much life force within the body before him; most of it was permeated with the aura of death.
"Yes, it's this... the taste of the Other God." Its emotionless voice seemed to be stating a simple fact.
Klay recalled the conversation just now. The other party had called him "Other God's Emissary"?
Sensing something, Klay guessed that what the other party was referring to was the ability brought by his Witcher system.
"You don't need to be so nervous. You are filled with magic; I have no intention, nor the power, to harm you, Other God's Emissary."
It said, seemingly on purpose, emphasizing the title "Other God's Emissary" again.
Klay ignored it. He finally had a chance to examine where he was. He was shocked by what he saw.
He saw... the Iron Throne!
It wasn't that Klay had actually seen the Iron Throne in this world, but the chair was simply too distinctive. The moment he saw it, Klay understood that it was the Iron Throne.
It was less a chair and more a large mass of twisted metal, covered in spikes and blades.
The chair itself was very tall, quite tall. Klay estimated that, including the uneven steps, it was probably seven or eight meters high.
So, he was in the throne room?!
My god! Thinking about the distance, it must be thousands of miles away. Was there a faster mode of transportation in this world than a dragon?
For some reason, that thought popped into Klay's head.
But then, Klay saw something, something that shouldn't be there, and it helped him understand the identity of the person before him.
Dragon bones, or more precisely, a giant dragon head, but already a skeleton.
Klay clearly remembered that after Robert I usurped the Targaryen family's throne, these decorative dragon heads were moved to the Red Keep's basement and replaced by tapestries symbolizing the Baratheon family's crowned stag.
At this point in time, there was no way Klay could see dragon bones in the throne room.
So, Klay understood. This wasn't the current throne room at all, but one from the past.
In other words, Klay was currently standing in history, or… someone's memory.
Seeing Klay staring fixedly at the Iron Throne and the dragon bones, the voice spoke again: "Other God's Emissary, it seems you already know where you are."
With a calm tone, He asked:
"So, do you want to sit on it?"
"…" Klay was silent; he didn't want to answer this question, even though he already knew the answer.
"I see boundless ambition in your body, where the Other God's magic flows. I'm curious, why would an heir of White Harbor want to sit on this chair? What supports you, the god behind you?"
He didn't seem to expect Klay to answer at all, continuing his own words.
"I brought you here to discuss this with you. Please, stop interfering with me, whether it's the Weirwood Tree, or that child."
Hearing this, Klay finally understood. The target wasn't him at all, but Bran!
Then, combined with this ability to pull people into the vortex of history, his identity was already clear.
Brynden Rivers, the Targaryen bastard, the Duke of Bloodraven, the Three-Eyed Raven!
....
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