It was a few days later that Daemon finally woke up.
"Urgh…" A tired groan escaped the fourteen-year-old boy's lips, and his eyes cracked open and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He stared at the popcorn drywall, something that does not exist in the medieval low fantasy world of A Song of Ice and Fire.
A dull wave of confusion washed over him as he continued staring, the texture was too clean, too uniform.
Something from another life.
"Where in the Nine Hells am I?" he muttered.
He pushed himself upright, surprised by how soft the bed was beneath him. Too soft. The common mattresses in the Red Keep were serviceable at best, barely better than straw. Even the mattress used by his mother, as he'd never been in his father's room – stuffed with feathers and wool as it were, was far inferior to this, and much less uncomfortable
Swinging his legs over the side, he took stock of the room.
It was… normal. Painfully so.
A single bed. A desk with a squat little lamp. Fake plants perched on the windowsill, their plastic leaves frozen in its eternal imitation of life. The walls were papered in a faint lilac pattern, subtle and tasteful, the sort of thing no Westerosi lord would ever think to use.
It felt lived-in, but only barely.
Wrong.
After years in a medieval world of stone and smoke, the room tugged at something old and half-forgotten in his chest. Nostalgia, sharp and uncomfortable. Like a dream he couldn't quite remember, only the feeling it left behind.
Uncanny valley.
The term floated up unbidden, half-remembered from his past life.
Frowning, Daemon stepped out into the hallway.
The rest of the house followed the same theme. A modest living room, neatly arranged. Couch cushions aligned just a bit too perfectly. A coffee table without a single scratch or ring. The air smelled clean, faintly of detergent and something floral.
Unused.
Or rather, rarely used.
Carefully.
"This is Earth," he said quietly, the realization settling like a stone in his gut.
Not Westeros. Not some battlefield or god-forsaken wilderness.
Earth.
His eyes narrowed.
"How?" he asked the empty room. "And who brought me here?"
No answer came.
The silence pressed in, thick and deliberate. His fingers twitched at his side, instincts screaming that something was off.
Then-
Click.
The sound of a lock turning echoed through the house.
Daemon's head snapped toward the front door just as it began to open.
The handle pushed down, and the door swung open, its hinges letting out the barest of creaks as it did so. A woman stepped in first, carrying a small plastic bag – and he had never thought that he would ever miss something silly like plastic, despite it having been a lifetime since he'd last seen one – full of groceries. She was tall, like 5'10" if he'd had to guesstimate, and looked like she lived a fulfilling life. She had one of those perpetual smiles on her face, the kind that adorned people who led happy lives, and there were the faintest marks of laugh lines around her eyes.
The second person to enter was a man carrying several more bags, each of them more full than the one the woman was carrying. He was wearing a three-piece suit, and not just one that you could buy from a store – it looked bespoke, likely made to his size and measurements. He had short brown hair that was well combed, and he held his head high, like there was nothing that could faze him, no threat that could take him down.
The last person to enter was a girl just a few years older than him, White of hair, her presence was sharp, arrogant in a way that didn't need words. The way she looked around the room screamed entitlement—like she was already bored with everything in it.
The woman's eyes met Daemon's.
They widened.
"Oh," she said, then smiled brightly. "You're awake!"
She set the grocery bag down on the coffee table and crossed the room quickly, hands gentle but efficient as she checked him over.
The sudden instinctive concern caught him off guard. It was maternal, uncomfortably so, and doubly because the last time he had felt such concern was his previous life, of which the memories were already fading and distant.
Daemon stiffened under her concern, but the moment passed before he could react.
"I'm fine," he said, clearing his throat. "Thank you. But," His eyes flicked between them. "Who are you?"
Before anyone could answer -
"Well," the white-haired girl cut in lazily, clapping her hands together once, "now that Sleeping Beauty's up, I'm heading out."
All eyes turned to her.
"I'll see you later," she added, already backing toward the door. "Bye~"
A thin white line appeared in the air beside her.
Daemon's breath caught.
The line widened, stretching impossibly until it tore open into a yawning white void. Without hesitation, the girl stepped through and vanished.
The tear sealed itself an instant later, leaving the room untouched.
Silent.
Daemon stared at the empty space.
Slowly, he turned back to the adults.
"What," he said carefully, "the fuck was that?"
The man set the grocery bags down on the counter with measured calm, as if extradimensional portals were an everyday inconvenience.
"That," he said evenly, "was someone who does not enjoy explanations."
The woman shot him a look. "Elijah."
He sighed faintly. "Very well."
He turned his full attention to Daemon then, eyes sharp, ancient in a way that made the hairs on the boy's neck rise.
"My name is Elijah Mikaelson," he said, voice smooth and formal. "And before you ask, yes. What you saw was real."
Daemon's jaw tightened. "That was magic."
"No," Elijah disagreed. "Not as you understand it."
The woman stepped in gently. "I'm Annette," she said. "Annette Hebert. And you're safe here."
Daemon held her gaze for a moment, then looked back at Elijah.
"Safe," he repeated. "Here."
"Yes," Elijah said simply. "On Earth."
"This isn't my world."
"No," Annette admitted. "But it's mine. And you will be safe here."
A pause settled over the room.
A long moment later, Daemon finally spoke again, asking a question that had long since burning in his mind. "How am I here?"
Annette and Elijah exchanged a glance before she bid him to sit. "What is the last thing you remember?" she asked, once he'd taken a seat on the couch.
"Huh? Well, I was making my way to the North to get to Winterfell then-" His breath hitched as the memories came rushing back, all of them.
The memories hit like a truck.
The Wendigo.
Losing his Arm.
The Chat Group.
Metamorphosis.
Goku.
The forest.
Then, nothing.
Daemon flinched as he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around him. He could feel the tightness in his chest release as he melted into Annette's arms, taking in the hug and the comfort that was offered.
She kept hugging him till he felt calmer, which felt like an eternity, but it was probably a minute or so.
"What was that for?" He asked as he gently let go of him.
She looked at him with kind eyes, "You looked like you needed it, dear."
He couldn't help but smile back.
"But where do I go from here?" Daemon asked, feeling utterly crushed from the inside. "I lost my sword arm. If I'm not a swordsman… then what am I?" he whispered. He wasn't good with the books, not like Aegon and Daenerys were, he also wasn't the most diplomatic of people and was unable to make the entire court dance at his fingertips like Rhaenys. All he had was his sword, and now it was gone.
"Wherever you want," Annette said, her hazel eyes shining with an emotion Daemon couldn't decipher. "You have the whole world open to you. Several worlds open to you because of this Chat Group we are a part of." She gently grabbed his face and spoke, her voice kind yet firm, "You can do anything you want."
"Or," Elijah interjected, adjusting a cufflink, "you can restore your arm using the system."
Annette turned a surprised gaze onto her new friend, "What do you mean?"
"The System Shop," Elijah said, then paused, eyes unfocusing, as if he were reading something in thin air – or from the group chat, Daemon figured. "…Ah. My mistake."
He lifted a hand.
[Elijah Mikaelson (Admin) has activated the System Shop for Group Members]
Huh, Daemon blinked, so that's a thing.
Before he could react, the group chat pinged, like receiving a message.
[Fallen Angel: What did you just unlock?]
[Fallen Angel: Elijah - explain.]
As the members started chatting in the group chat, Daemon decided to check this System shop that Elijah had just unlocked for him.
Surprisingly, for a Multiversal Chat group, there were only a handful of items available in here.
[System Shop]
[Chat Invitation Card – Sends 1–3 random invitations across the multiverse; if accepted, grants a bonus card to invite a chosen individual from any known world.
Price: 250 Gold]
[Full Restore Potion – Instantly restores all health and removes every ailment with no side effects. One-time use.
Price: 350 Gold]
[Power Modification Elixir – Randomly alters your abilities and may transform or overwrite existing curses. Results are unpredictable.
Price: 600 Gold]
[Structure Transposition Icon – Copy any structure and place it anywhere; all enchantments remain fully intact and functional.
Price: 1000 Gold]
[Gacha Coin – Use to perform one random gacha roll with unknown rewards.
Price: 700 Gold]
[Power Actuation Elixir – Converts you into a native of a chosen world's power system while retaining all prior curses and modifications.
Price: 250 Gold]
Daemon barely registered the rest of the listings.
His eyes locked onto a single line of text.
[Full Restore Potion – Instantly restores all health and removes every ailment with no side effects. One-time use.]
Instantly.
All health.
Every ailment.
His gaze lingered there, unblinking, as if staring long enough might make it cheaper.
Three hundred and fifty gold.
His missing arm throbbed faintly, not with pain, but with phantom sensation, an echo of something that should have been there. Fingers that weren't. Weight that no longer existed. The absence screamed louder than any wound ever had.
A single bottle.
One drink.
And it would all be gone.
He forced his eyes downward, pointedly ignoring the absurdity of what he was seeing.
A card that could invite strangers across the multiverse cost less than his arm.
Sending ripples through reality was apparently cheaper than healing a fourteen-year-old boy.
Daemon exhaled slowly through his nose and turned his head.
Elijah stood a short distance away, posture immaculate, attention clearly divided. His eyes were unfocused, jaw tight in that polite, restrained way that suggested he was deep in a conversation, just not one taking place in the room. Daemon could practically feel the rapid back-and-forth of the group chat, even without looking.
The thought struck him as ridiculous.
The man was right there.
"Uh," Daemon began, then hesitated.
Elijah's eyes sharpened instantly, attention snapping back to the present. "Yes?"
"How," Daemon asked carefully, "do I get the gold for this?" He gestured vaguely, indicating the shop interface only he could see. "For the Full Restore Potion."
Elijah studied him for a moment, expression unreadable.
"In your inbox," he said at last, "you should find several items labeled Curse Tokens."
Daemon blinked. "Curse… tokens."
"Yes," Elijah confirmed evenly. "Using one applies a restriction or alteration to your power. The nature of the curse varies." His tone didn't soften. If anything, it became more precise. "In exchange, each token grants you one hundred gold."
Daemon swallowed.
"And the catch?"
Elijah raised a brow slightly. "The curse."
Of course.
Daemon glanced back at the glowing shop interface, then pulled up his inbox.
Five items floated there.
[Curse Token ×5]
Five chances.
Five prices.
Elijah continued, as if reciting something obvious. "Additionally, all members begin with one hundred gold upon joining."
Daemon did the math automatically.
One hundred gold already.
Three curse tokens would be enough to buy the potion.
Three.
That was all it would take to get his arm back.
His fingers curled slightly at his side.
His thoughts churned with indecision for a long moment before he –
Fuck it
- Rolled
A single curse token disappeared from his inbox, its power activating. There was no fading away of the world, nothing dramatic like what had happened when he had rolled for his power, but he suddenly felt like he could feel his power, feel the chains forming around it, binding it together – chaining it with a curse.
The chat screen popped up.
[Curse: Mirror of the Inverted Self]
[Your metamorphosis is bound to the reflection that you were never born as only female forms may answer your call. In return, every transformation is flawless and painless, granting you instinctive mastery over their abilities as though they were always your own.]
Daemon stared blankly, trying to comprehend his new reality
Then, 100 Gold was deposited into his System Shop's money counter
A long moment later, Mount Daemon erupted,
"WHAT THE FUCK!"