The great hall of the Red Keep was alive with the quiet hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware. Long tables had been arranged beneath the flickering torchlight, laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and fruits from the Reach. Prince Aegon, barely four years old, sat beside his grandmother, Queen Alysanne, his small hands eagerly tearing into a piece of honeyed chicken. Queen Alysanne, her silver-gold hair streaked with the wisdom of her fifty-plus years, sat regally beside him, her sharp violet eyes missing nothing despite the weary lines that framed them from decades of rule and personal loss.

  His appetite had always been strong, but he had become acutely aware of the benefits of his trait, [Strong Digestion]. Every bite he took was absorbed more efficiently than most, and he made sure to eat as much as he could, knowing it would aid his growth.

  Across from him, his eldest brother, Viserys, now eleven, was engaged in a quiet discussion with their grandfather, King Jaehaerys I, about the latest reports from the Stormlands. Viserys had always been dutiful, his posture straight, his words measured, already the image of a future king with his soft silver hair and amiable purple eyes that masked a quiet shrewdness. Beside him, Jaehaerys, the Old King, his beard more white than silver now but his bearing still commanding, listened with the patience of a ruler who had weathered half a century of storms, his sharp gaze occasionally flickering to assess the rest of the table even as he nodded at Viserys's points.

  To Aegon’s left, his other brother, Daemon, seven years old, was poking at his food with a bored expression. Daemon had little patience for formal dinners, preferring the training yard or the Dragonpit. His violet eyes flicked around the table, lingering briefly on their uncle, Prince Aemond, before he shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

  Aemond, the firstborn son of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, a stern-faced man with sharp Targaryen features and silver hair streaked with grey, sat stiffly beside his daughter, Rhaenys, who had only just returned from riding Meleys. The thirteen-year-old princess bore the striking beauty of Old Valyria: high cheekbones, flawless pale skin, and thick silver-gold hair loosely braided from her ride, her violet eyes bright with restless energy. The queen had been displeased with her frequent absences, and the tension between them was palpable.

  "You spend too much time in the skies, Rhaenys," Alysanne said, her voice calm but firm. "A dragonrider must also learn the ways of court."

  Rhaenys, barely older than Viserys, met her grandmother’s gaze without flinching. "Meleys needs to fly, Your Grace. A dragon kept too long in chains grows restless."

  Alysanne’s lips thinned, but before she could reply, King Jaehaerys interjected. "Let the girl ride. The bond between dragon and rider is not one to be neglected."

  Alysanne exhaled softly but said nothing more. The recent reconciliation between her and Jaehaerys was still fragile, and she had no wish to reignite old quarrels.

  Aegon, sensing the shift in mood, reached for another piece of chicken. His movements caught Aemond’s attention.

  "You eat like a starving peasant, nephew," Aemond remarked dryly.

  Aegon paused, then swallowed before answering. "I like food."

  Aemond arched a brow. "Clearly."

  Daemon snickered, but Viserys shot him a warning look.

  Alysanne placed a gentle hand on Aegon’s shoulder. "Let him eat. Growing boys need their strength."

  "Especially this one," Jaehaerys added, a faint smile touching his lips. "He’ll be as tall as his father one day."

  Baelon, the Spring Prince, was not present tonight, away on some duty for the crown but his absence was felt. Alysanne’s grip on Aegon’s shoulder tightened slightly, a shadow passing over her face. The deaths of her daughters still weighed heavily on her.

  Aegon, sensing her sorrow, nudged a piece of sweetcake toward her. "Grandmother, try this. It’s good."

  Alysanne’s expression softened. "You’re too kind, little one." She took a small bite, though her appetite had never fully returned since the tragedies.

  At the far end of the table, Rhaenys leaned toward Viserys, her voice low. "Will you be joining us in the training yard tomorrow?"

  Viserys nodded. "If Grandfather permits it."

  Jaehaerys waved a hand. "Of course. A king must know how to wield a sword as well as a quill."

  Daemon perked up. "Can I come too?"

  "You’re still too young for live steel," Aemond said dismissively.

  Daemon scowled. "I’m not."

  "You are," Viserys said firmly. "But you can watch."

  Daemon looked as though he wanted to argue further, but a sharp glance from Jaehaerys silenced him.

  Aegon, meanwhile, had moved on to a bowl of berries, popping them into his mouth one by one. He had learned quickly that in this life, strength came not just from bloodline but from preparation. His body was still small, but he would make sure it grew strong.

  Alysanne watched him with fondness. "You remind me of Baelon at your age. He was always hungry too."

  Aegon grinned, juice staining his lips. "Father says eating well is a warrior’s duty."

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  Jaehaerys chuckled. "A wise man, your father."

  The conversation drifted to lighter topics, the upcoming tourney in Lannisport, the new hatchlings in the Dragonpit, but beneath the surface, the tensions remained. Aemond’s quiet disapproval of Rhaenys’ wildness, Daemon’s restless energy, Alysanne’s lingering grief.

  By the time the servants cleared the plates, Aegon had eaten more than any child his age should have been capable of. His stomach was full, his limbs warm with the satisfaction of a meal well-utilized.

  As the family rose from the table, Viserys placed a hand on Aegon’s head. "Come, little brother. It’s time for bed."

  Aegon nodded, though his mind was already turning to the next day, the next meal, the next step in growing stronger.

  The morning sun cast long shadows across the training yard of the Red Keep. Prince Aegon, sat on a wooden bench, swinging his legs as he watched his older brother, Daemon, spar with Ser Clement Crabb. The sharp clang of swords echoed in the quiet yard. Most of the court had left for the tourney at Lannisport, leaving the castle unusually empty.

  Daemon, seven years old and still simmering with anger over being left behind, swung his wooden practice sword with more force than necessary. His strikes were wild, fueled by frustration.

  He’s still mad about the punishment.

  Two weeks prior, Daemon had violently assaulted a servant over some perceived offense that no one else understood. When Prince Baelon returned and learned of the incident, his rage had been immediate and decisive - Daemon's punishment was to remain confined to the Red Keep while the others traveled to the tourney. Now the seven-year-old prince found himself drilling endlessly in the training yard under Ser Clement's stern supervision, rather than watching the jousts at Lannisport.

  Not that he minds training. He just hates being told what to do.

  Beside Aegon stood his two handmaidens, Ellyn and Mara, quietly discussing some court gossip. Behind them, Ser Robin Shaw of the Kingsguard stood motionless, his white cloak stirring slightly in the breeze. His presence was more formality than necessity, no one expected trouble within the castle walls.

  Daemon lunged at Ser Clement, who sidestepped with ease and tapped Daemon’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.

  "Too slow," Ser Clement said.

  Daemon snarled and spat a curse. "I wasn’t ready!"

  "You think your enemies will wait for you to be ready?"

  Daemon glared but reset his stance.

  Aegon popped a grape into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Over the past two weeks, he had leveled up his class, [Gluttonous Child], to level 4, consuming roughly 2100 EXP. Leveling to level 2 took 500 EXP, level 3 - 700 EXP and Level 4 - 900 EXP. His trait, [Strong Digestion], had also improved, now increasing nutrient absorption by 20%. The effects were undeniable. He had grown 2 centimeters taller, something he confirmed by secretly marking his height against the wall in his chambers.

  Not bad for two weeks.

  His attributes had also seen a slight increase, particularly his Constitution, which had risen by 0.2 points.

  [

  CON 2.9

  STR 2.1

  AGI 3.3

  DEX 3.2

  INT 9.2

  ]

  The numbers floated in his mind, a system only he could see.

  In the game, EXP wasn’t restricted by action, only by impact. The more impact you had on the world, the more EXP you gained.

  He had tested this theory over the past weeks. Eating the same meal in his room gave him a trickle of EXP, but dining with the king and queen flooded him with gains. It made sense, interacting with the most powerful people in the realm had a greater effect on the world.

  This changes things.

  His original plan had been to travel Westeros on dragonback, seeing everything this world had to offer. But if he wanted to maximize his growth, he needed to stay where the influence was greatest, close to the king, the queen, the Small Council.

  I have to stay in the Red Keep. At least until I’m stronger.

  Daemon let out a frustrated shout as Ser Clement disarmed him again. The wooden sword clattered to the ground.

  "Again!" Daemon demanded.

  Ser Clement sighed but obliged.

  Aegon reached for another grape, but his fingers brushed against something else—a small honey cake left on the platter. He grabbed it and took a bite, savoring the sweetness.

  Ellyn glanced down at him. "You’ve eaten quite a bit this morning, my prince."

  Aegon swallowed. "I’m hungry."

  She smiled. "Growing boys need their fill."

  If only she knew how true that is.

  Daemon, panting from exertion, finally managed to land a hit on Ser Clement, a light tap on the arm, but it was something.

  "Better," Ser Clement admitted.

  Daemon smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Told you I’d get you."

  "One hit doesn’t make you a knight."

  Daemon’s smirk faded. "I’d do better with a real sword."

  "You’ll get one when you’re ready."

  Which won’t be anytime soon if he keeps acting like this.

  Aegon finished the honey cake and licked his fingers. He wondered if Daemon even cared about improving or if he just wanted to prove he was better than everyone else.

  Probably the latter.

  Ser Robin shifted slightly, his armor creaking. "Prince Aegon, should we return to the castle? The sun is growing harsh."

  Aegon shook his head. "I want to watch more."

  Ser Robin nodded and resumed his silent vigil.

  Daemon and Ser Clement continued their bout, the rhythm of their strikes filling the air. Aegon’s mind drifted back to his own progress.

  If I keep this up, I’ll outgrow Daemon in a few years. Maybe even Viserys.

  The thought brought a flicker of satisfaction. In his past life, he had never been the strongest or the fastest. But here, with this system, he could change that.

  A servant approached, bowing slightly. "Prince Aegon, Queen Alysanne requests your presence."

  Aegon perked up. More EXP.

  He slid off the bench, brushing crumbs from his tunic. "I’m coming."

  Daemon, noticing his departure, called out, "Running off already?"

  Aegon shrugged. "Grandmother wants me."

  Daemon rolled his eyes but said nothing else.

  "You are here, Aegon? Come, let us go to the Dragonpit."

  His grandmother, Queen Alysanne, stood before him, her silver-gold hair braided neatly beneath a light veil. She extended a hand toward him.

  She’s taking me to see the dragons.

  For days, he had pestered her about it, asking questions every time they shared a meal or walked the gardens. Now, finally, she had agreed.

  He scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his trousers. "Right now?"

  Alysanne smiled. "Unless you’ve changed your mind?"

  "No!" He nearly tripped in his haste to reach her side.

  She chuckled and took his small hand in hers. "Then we go."

  They walked through the halls of the Red Keep, Aegon’s shorter legs forcing him to take two steps for every one of hers. Servants bowed as they passed.

  "Will Silverwing be there?" he asked.

  "She will."

  "Is she the biggest dragon?"

  "No, but she is among the most graceful."

  "Have you flown her recently?"

  "Not as often as I once did."

  If I had a dragon, I would fly every day.

  The path to the Dragonpit sloped downward, the air growing warmer as they approached the massive domed structure. The scent of smoke and something sharper, something wild, lingered in the breeze. Aegon’s fingers tightened around his grandmother’s.

  This is real. They’re really here.

  Dragon Keepers in gray robes bowed deeply as the queen approached. One stepped forward, his voice respectful. "Your Grace."

  Alysanne inclined her head. "We have come to see Silverwing."

  The head keeper nodded. "She has been restless this morning. She will be glad for your presence."

  The keepers moved aside, and Aegon followed his grandmother into the dim interior of the pit. The heat here was thicker, the air heavy with the smell of charred meat and molten stone. Torches lined the walls, their flickering light casting long shadows.

  A low, rumbling growl echoed from the depths.

  Aegon froze.

  That’s a dragon.

  Alysanne squeezed his hand. "She will not harm you."