I died.
That's it, really. No dramatic music, no hero in the background, no last words spoken with a tear in the eye. Just... death.
Quick.
Stupid.
Hopelessly absurd.
I was standing at the pedestrian crossing, waiting for the green light, when some kid in a cap muttered under his breath:
— Life's too short to wait...
Before anyone could react, he ran onto the road.
Bang. Crash. Roar of a truck. The body flew several meters into the air. People screamed, someone called an ambulance, someone else took a photo — of course.
That idiot survived. Broken legs, blood on his face — but alive.
And me?
I, who had simply stood politely, waiting for the green light, died. Without warning. Without a scream. Without dignity.
Next scene? White nothingness.
Literally. Everything around was so bright and sterile it made my eyes hurt — though, by the way, I no longer had eyes.
Light without a source. Shadows without owners. As if someone had tried to create heaven but only finished design school through an online course.
And then I saw him.
A young guy sat across from me in a fluorescent robe, looking as if he'd just realized his SQL code hadn't saved due to autosave being off.
— This wasn't supposed to happen — he muttered. — It was supposed to be the boy in the cap. He was marked...
— Am I dead because of a soul registration error? — I asked in disbelief.
— K-kind of... It's a system error. I'm just an intern...
Great. I'm dead because of an intern.
Fantastic.
I sighed and sat on something invisible but absurdly comfortable. If I'd known death came with foam chairs better than in a Tesla, maybe I wouldn't have been so angry.
— So now what? Will you reset me to factory settings?
— I'll contact my supervisor. Maybe something can be done...
Time didn't exist here. Seriously. It could have been fifteen minutes, an hour, a day. Or an entire eternity.
Finally, he looked up from some ethereal tablet and smiled, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say:
— Good news! They agreed to give you compensation. You'll be reborn in another world. You'll keep your memories. You'll get bonuses.
— No cash compensation? — I muttered.
— Unfortunately, we don't work with banks.
Before I could ask more, a giant spinning wheel of fortune appeared above his hand.
Seriously? A wheel?
Because nothing screams "divine justice" like an element from a cheap game show.
Panels with titles: Naruto, Harry Potter, Marvel, One Piece, Warhammer, Star Wars...
The wheel slowed.
— Game of Thrones — he read.
Great.
A fantasy world. Bloody political games. Intrigue. Murder. No plumbing.
But hey, I watched the series. Bit of an advantage. Maybe I could become a maester. Or just stay far away from anyone named Lannister.
— Now it's time to draw your character. Could be anyone — from king to slave.
The wheel spun again.
— Brandon Stark. Older brother of Eddard. Heir to Winterfell. In the original timeline, he died by fire — thanks to the Mad King.
Okay, not bad.
Not a bad character. Just keep Lyanna away from Rhaegar and maybe start the rebellion before I get turned into toast.
Basically — a great place to start. Strong family. Influence. Potential.
— Okay. Now, bonuses. You get five draws.
The wheel spun a third, fourth, and fifth time.
[1] Book of Runes of the First Men
Ancient knowledge of symbols and magic no one understands anymore. The Starks can learn from it. For others — just an old book, lying in the Winterfell crypts. Perfect for a "random discovery."
[2] Skinchanger
The ability to connect with the minds of animals and take control of them. Up to three animals at once — with no risk of losing oneself.
So I can be a wolf, an eagle, and a bear — and still be me.
Nice.
[3] Direwolves
Each of my children — including me — will get a direwolf. A personal, loyal monster.
Who needs a dog when you can have a half-ton predator?
[4] Senku's Knowledge from Dr. Stone
Not kidding. Full package: chemistry, physics, metallurgy, electricity, fermentation.
If it can be built — I'll build it.
NorthTech incoming.
[5] Wolf Face
The Hanmas had a "Demon Face." The Starks will have a "Wolf Face."
No idea what it actually does, but it sounds terrifying.
— And finally... when you'll regain your memories.
One last spin.
Six years old.
Not bad. Not a newborn, not ancient. Just right.
Old enough to plan things. Young enough not to be depressed over diapers.
The intern closed his tablet, smiled at me:
— Well... good luck. And let's hope we never meet again.
He tapped me on the forehead with the tablet.
BOOOOOM.
— What the—?!
I didn't finish.
The world exploded in white.