In the depths of the forest, two figures moved at an unnatural speed.
One was small, almost insignificant compared to the other, which towered like a mountain of flesh and tusks. Both crashed into each other again and again, making the ground tremble beneath their feet.
It was a man fighting hand to hand against a tyrannosaurus.
His bare fists slammed into the beast with primitive fury. On every finger of his hands shone a solid gold ring, ten in total, the only adornments on a body completely exposed to danger.
Man and monster were so absorbed in their dance of death that they did not perceive the omen falling from the sky.
When they looked up, the meteorite was already too close.
The world ended in fire.
Date: 283 A.D.
POV: Kerse
I woke up with a clouded mind, not knowing where I was… nor who I was.
Then I remembered.
A meteorite.
It had fallen directly on top of me.
For an instant, an absurd euphoria ran through my body at the thought that I had survived. But that feeling dissipated immediately when I noticed that something did not fit.
I heard neighing, shouts in a harsh tongue, the metallic sound of weapons. The air was saturated with a strange smell: spices, salt, sea.
I tried to sit up.
My arms… were too small. Weak. Childlike.
Before I could process the horror of that discovery, I understood that I was not alone.
Not far away, a couple watched me with stunned expressions, as if I had appeared out of nowhere. Beside me, a small girl cried inconsolably, clinging to the ground next to two enormous stone-like eggs.
I did not need much to reach an impossible conclusion.
I had traveled through time.
Date: 298 A.D.
I opened my eyes and looked through the opening of the tent.
Desert.
No, it was not just any desert.
It was the Dothraki Sea of Grass, stretching as far as the eye could see, beyond Pentos, east of the Narrow Sea, in the heart of the continent of Essos.
The world of Game of Thrones.
Yes… I had traveled through time.
Well. Technically, twice.
Before, I had reincarnated as Pickle, in the world of Baki. And there, while hunting a tyrannosaurus for dinner, the sky decided to fall on me in the form of a meteorite.
I thought that would be the end.
But I woke up again… reduced to a baby, in an unknown tent, surrounded by human gazes filled with confusion.
My arrival was not discreet. It drew the attention not only of those who were there, but of the entire camp.
Even so, not everything was lost.
My consciousness had traveled with me, trapped in a new body. And, for some reason, my old "golden fingers" also returned: ten rings of pure gold, impossible relics from another world.
And that was not the strangest thing.
At my side appeared Rhaenys Targaryen… someone who, according to history, should have died. Beside her, two dragon eggs.
I have tried everything to make them hatch.
Nothing worked.
Even so, today is a special day.
If nothing goes wrong, today I will obtain a wife… and three dragon eggs.
In the vast Dothraki Sea of Grass, one tent stood out above the others.
Golden tassels adorned its peak, symbols of power, victory, and lineage. Inside, the light of the fire danced across the leather walls, casting uneasy shadows over the expectant faces of those who waited.
At the center, seated upon a simple but sturdy throne, was the Horse King of the Great Sea of Grass.
The Chosen of the Horse God.
Khal Kerse.
Yes, just as it sounds.
Thor Horse Head.
As a time traveler, I quickly understood a fundamental truth: few things unite a people more than faith. So I took advantage of my miraculous appearance and my reputation as the chosen one to carry out… small adjustments.
With my own hands I drew the image of the god. I told them that this was his true name. His authentic form.
I could not change all traditions at once. Not even being invincible. So I opted for gradual revelations, carefully measured miracles… and the convenient detail of not having lost a single battle since the age of six.
The reforms were simple, but profound:
— Thor Horse Head: true name and form of the Horse God.
— Valhalla: the great hall where warriors fallen in battle are received.
— Hell: a cold and shadowy realm for those who kill innocents.
— Reincarnation: a new beginning for civilians whose karma does not weigh too heavily.
Wearing armor ceased to be cowardice.
Dying while fighting remained honorable.
But those who harmed the defenseless… would never enter Valhalla.
And that, for the Dothraki, was worse than death.