Consciousness returned not as a gentle awakening, but as a cold, violent shock. Saltwater stung my nostrils, and the weight of a world seemed to press down on me.
Where am I?
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through my veins. I was in water, fully clothed—no, armored. Why was I so heavy? My last memory was of my own bed, the soft mattress and warm blankets. This was wrong. All of it was wrong.
Is this a nightmare? A drowning dream?
"Calm down," I gasped, the words a ragged whisper against the crash of waves. "Just calm down."
Forcing air into my lungs, I fought against the crushing weight. I could think about the absurdity of this "metal swimsuit" later. Survival came first. With a monumental effort, my limbs burning with a strange, unfamiliar strength, I dragged myself through the surf until my knees scraped against wet sand. I collapsed, breathing in great, heaving gulps of air.
The sky was a deep, star-flecked indigo, the first hints of dawn a pale line on the horizon. As my breathing steadied, a new realization dawned. My body felt… different. Taller. The muscles in my arms and chest were denser, coiled with a power I had never known. I flexed a gauntleted hand, the metal joints moving with a smooth, oiled precision.
Pushing myself onto my knees, I looked down. The sight that greeted me was impossible. I was clad head to toe in ornate, masterfully crafted plate armor, the steel darkened and etched with patterns I recognized all too well.
"What in God's name…?" I whispered.
This was no cosplay. The weight was too real, the fit too perfect. A cold dread, deeper than the ocean's chill, settled in my gut. The pieces clicked together with a horrifying finality.
I had been isekaied. Thrown into another world. And from the looks of it, I had arrived with nothing but the clothes on my back and a body that wasn't entirely my own.
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Some cruel joke. I thought there was supposed to be a truck. Or a pandemic. A bearded god or a useless goddess, granting me wishes and cheat skills." I scanned the empty beach, the vast, dark forest beyond. "But this? Nothing. No guidance. No goal. Just… here."
Frustration warred with fear. The being that had done this couldn't even be bothered to give me a manual. I was soaking wet, stranded, and utterly lost.
My first priority was to get dry, but the armor posed a problem. How did I even get out of it? After a few futile minutes of fumbling at unfamiliar latches, I gave up. The plate wasn't as soaked as I was; the gambeson beneath had borne the brunt of the water. It would have to dry on its own.
Inventory, then. What did I have?
Instinct, born of a thousand video games, took over. I waved a hand, trying to summon a screen. Nothing.
"Open stats," I commanded the empty air. Silence. "Status! Abracadabra? Alakazam!"
Nothing. No screens, no prompts. This wasn't a game world. There would be no cheat codes here.
A practical check was more fruitful. A heavy longsword was sheathed across my back, its familiar weight a small comfort. A second, shorter sword hung at my hip. Three daggers were tucked securely into sheaths integrated into the armor. I patted my head, feeling only my own hair. No helmet. A disappointing oversight.
My fingers then found a leather pouch at my belt. Inside, a handful of coins clinked together. I poured them into my palm. Ten gold pieces. They were stamped on one side with the face of a king, and on the other with a dragon's head.
A dragon. A king.
A cold suspicion began to crystallize in my mind.
"Are you listening to me?" I called out to the sky, half in prayer, half in challenge. "Whoever did this? A little guidance would be appreciated!"
Only the cry of a distant gull answered me. Sighing, I stowed the coins. At least I had some pocket money.
The sun was rising now, casting a golden glow over the landscape. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and utterly desolate. With no other options, I chose a direction and started walking, the rhythmic clank of my armor a lonely sound in the morning quiet.
After perhaps an hour, the scent of woodsmoke and salt-cured fish reached me. Cresting a small rise, I saw it: a small, poor fishing village nestled along the coast. Hope, sharp and desperate, flared in my chest. Thirst, even more potent, clawed at my throat.
Two figures—a man and a boy—were mending nets by a beached skiff. As I approached, they froze. The fear in their eyes was palpable, a raw, animal terror. The boy, trembling from head to foot, found the courage to step forward. It was then that the final, chilling piece of the puzzle fell into place. These were no NPCs. Their fear was too real, their poverty too vivid. This was a real world, and I was a terrifying, armed stranger in it.
I softened my tone, trying to project a calm I did not feel. "You there. Do not be afraid." I gestured to the boy. "Fetch me some fresh water, lad."
The boy nodded mutely and scampered off toward a hovel. I turned my attention to the man, the fisherman. He was tense, his hands clenched white-knuckled around a net.
"M' lord," he stammered, not meeting my eyes. "We… we paid our six-moon tax to Sir Roger, not a fortnight past. I swear it by the Seven."
I raised a hand to stop him. "I am not a tax collector, good man. I am merely a traveler, seeking answers. I will trouble you for but a moment, and then I will be on my way."
The relief on his face was immediate and profound. The boy returned then, offering a leather waterskin. I took it, uncorked it, and drank deeply. The water was cool and tasted of the hide, but it was the most refreshing thing I had ever tasted.
"Thank you," I said, handing it back. I decided to start with a simple question. "How far is the capital from here?"
The fisherman blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "The capital, m' lord? That'd be a two-day walk, south along the coast road." He pointed a gnarled finger down the shoreline.
I nodded, filing the information away. I needed context. I needed to know where—and when—I was.
"One more question," I said, my voice low and deliberate. "Who is the current king?"
The answer came without hesitation, a name that struck me with the force of a physical blow.
"Why, King Aerys, m' lord. Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name."
The name echoed in my mind, a single, terrifying peal of thunder.
Aerys Targaryen.
I was in Westeros. And I was in the reign of the Mad King.