Stannon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck while staring at the glowing system panel in front of him. The numbers and details flickered slightly, but no matter how much he analyzed them, he couldn't decide yet. He had two choices—strengthen his current abilities or upgrade the system. It was a tough decision. Soon, he would be traveling to King's Landing, a journey full of dangers, where every choice mattered.
For now, he decided to wait before using his experience points. It was better to observe things first. If he faced immediate danger, he could always use his EXP on the spot. His system didn't require meditation or rituals—he only had to will the change into effect.
With that thought set aside, he leaned against the edge of the bath, letting the warm water relax his muscles. His fingers tapped lightly on the rim, and his mind shifted away from system upgrades. Instead, he thought about his bond with Ghostwing.
His connection with the white falcon was very good, but Stannon was still working to strengthen it even more. Ghostwing wasn't an ordinary bird—he was smart, fast, and fiercely loyal. More importantly, Stannon could use his Warging ability to see through the falcon's eyes and even control his movements to some extent.
Taking a deep breath, Stannon closed his eyes and let his mind drift.
Warging always felt strange at first. It was like pushing his mind through a tunnel where the air was thin and the light faded into darkness before opening up again. The first thing he noticed was the wind rushing past feathers, the cold air brushing against Ghostwing's sleek white body.
Then, he could see.
His vision became sharper and clearer. Colors looked different, focusing more on contrasts. From above, the world seemed vast—endless forests, rivers that looked like silver veins, and the towering walls of Winterfell in the distance. Ghostwing was soaring high, his strong wings cutting through the sky with ease.
Flying was exhilarating. Stannon had experienced it before, but it always left him breathless. The way the wind carried Ghostwing and how slight movements of his wings changed direction—humans could never fully understand it.
He wondered if he was in a human body, flying naked, how would his massive di*k keep swinging in the air.
'How would it even look to the people below?' Stannon couldn't help but smile internally at this stupid thought.
'Let's try something different this time,' Stannon thought, focusing his will.
He had been practicing, but Warging wasn't just about seeing through the bird's eyes. True mastery meant control, and he was still working on that.
Carefully, he tried to slow Ghostwing's speed, guiding him into a gentle glide instead of a fast dive. He felt the bird respond—Ghostwing extended his wings, catching the wind at the right angle to slow down.
'Good,' Stannon thought, feeling a bit proud.
Next, he attempted to tilt Ghostwing's right wing downward, hoping to turn him to the left. The falcon hesitated for a moment but then obeyed, smoothly changing direction mid-air.
He continued experimenting, making Ghostwing turn left and right, adjust his height, and even flap his wings at command rather than by instinct. Their connection felt stronger, and Stannon's confidence grew.
But then—
A sudden, overwhelming urge hit his mind.
One moment, Ghostwing was flying smoothly under Stannon's control. The next, his instincts took over with raw, unstoppable force.
What—?
Without warning, Ghostwing folded his wings and dove sharply. Stannon tried to hold onto control, but it was like fighting a storm. The falcon's instincts were far stronger than his will.
Ghostwing shot downward, the wind screaming in his ears. In an instant, his sharp talons extended—
And he snatched something from a tree branch.
The sensation was shocking.
Still linked to Ghostwing's mind, Stannon felt the talons grip something small and squirming. Ghostwing's beak opened, and before Stannon could react, the creature was tossed into his mouth.
A crunch.
Disgust flooded Stannon's mind.
The taste was horrifying—something wriggling and struggling, the bitter crunch of an insect's shell, and a burst of sour liquid.
Stannon's whole body shuddered, and he instantly broke the connection, yanking himself out of Ghostwing's mind. His eyes snapped open, and he barely stopped himself from gagging.
"Gods, that was vile," he muttered, running a hand over his face. The awful taste still lingered, making him gag slightly.
Ghostwing, now free from Stannon's control, continued flying as if nothing had happened, unaware that his master had just gone through one of the most disgusting experiences of his life.
Stannon took deep breaths, trying to calm his stomach. He had trained his body to handle pain, exhaustion, and even poison—but nothing had prepared him for the sheer horror of experiencing a bird's meal firsthand.
No wonder Wargs don't possess birds for long.
With a final shudder, he made a mental note: 'Never let Ghostwing hunt while I'm Warging.'
After soaking in the cold water of the wooden tub, Stannon stretched his arms. The strange aftertaste of Ghostwing's insect had finally faded, but the memory still made his stomach turn. He ran a hand through his damp hair and decided it was time to get out.
The water was cooling, and the air in Winterfell felt a little chillier. He shook off the last of the discomfort and stepped out of the tub, grabbing a thick linen towel to dry himself. His muscles ached slightly, reminding him of the intense training he'd done earlier that day.
He dressed quickly in a simple tunic and trousers, then put on his boots. Unlike the heavy furs most Northerners wore, Stannon preferred practical clothing, though he had grown used to the cold over the years and also because of his ability Iron hide.
Satisfied with his appearance, he left the bath chamber and walked down the quiet hall toward his room.
As he reached the door to his room, he noticed something unexpected.
Sansa Stark was standing just outside his door, nervously fiddling with a strand of her auburn hair. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, as she waited, looking unsure of herself.
When she saw him, she straightened up quickly, dropping her hands to her sides like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't.
"Stannon?" she asked softly.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Sansa?"
Her blue eyes flickered with uncertainty, and then she gave him a small, composed smile. "I—" She paused. "I was waiting for you."
He studied her for a moment, noticing the shift in her posture—she was trying to appear calm and graceful, but there was an underlying restlessness in the way she carried herself.
"Come in," he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
Sansa nodded and stepped inside, moving carefully yet deliberately.
Stannon followed her, closing the door behind them. He pulled out a chair near the hearth and gestured for her to sit wherever she liked. After a brief hesitation, she sat on the edge of his bed.
The fire crackled gently in the background, its warm light casting a soft glow across the stone room. Stannon leaned back in his chair, resting his arm on the armrest as he observed her.
Over the past nine years, he had built strong relationships with the Stark children. Robb and Jon were like brother-in-arms, and Arya—well, she was a force to be reckoned with. Even Bran and Rickon had come to accept him in their own way.
But Sansa had always been different.
When he first met her, she had been much like the girl from his show knowledge—naïve, idealistic, and entranced by the romanticized idea of courtly life. She had believed in knights, lords, and gallant princes, swept away by tales of chivalry and happily-ever-afters.
The Sansa Stark of the show had suffered greatly because of that innocence. She had once seen Joffrey Baratheon as her prince charming, only to be cruelly disillusioned by his cruelty. She had been manipulated and tormented, learning how harsh the world really was.
But the Sansa Stark before him now was not the same.
He had noticed the cracks in her illusions early on, and unlike the show, he had tried to guide her thinking, helping her see the world differently.
He had encouraged her to read more than just the stories of noble ladies, showing her histories of great rulers—women who had shaped kingdoms, not just played roles as pawns.
He had questioned her beliefs, challenging her to see beyond politics and diplomacy. When she talked about knights and valor, he would counter with the brutal realities of war and power.
He had shown her that being a lady didn't mean being weak. Grace and intelligence could be just as powerful as any sword.
And now, as she sat in front of him, her hands fidgeting slightly, he wondered what had brought her here tonight.
"You seem troubled," he said, watching her closely. "What's on your mind?"
Sansa hesitated before looking into the fire, as if gathering her thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was soft.
"I wanted to talk to you." She bit her lip briefly, looking unsure of herself. "About… us."
Stannon raised an eyebrow. "Us?"
Sansa felt nervous, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve as she sat in front of him. Her face turned red, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She had thought about this moment for a long time, but now that it was happening, it felt much harder to speak.
"Stannon..." she started, her voice quiet but clear. She looked down for a moment, then quickly back at him, meeting his eyes before looking away again. "I... I don't know what to say, but... I've been thinking a lot. About... about us."
Her heart raced as she tried to find the right words. "I know I'm not as grown-up as I should be, and I don't understand everything yet, but... when you're around, I feel happy. Like, I want to be with you more."
She looked at him again, her blue eyes a mix of hope and nervousness. "I think... I think I like you. Maybe... more than I should, or more than I'm supposed to, but I do." Her voice shook a little, but she tried to keep her gaze steady.
Taking a deep breath, she nervously clasped her hands together. "I don't know what this means, or if you feel the same, but I wanted you to know before you leave for the King's landing. I just... I really like being with you, Stannon."
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