The year was 275 AC.
In the the Reach, at Goldengrove.
On the banks of a river flowing from north to south stood a castle.
It lacked the overwhelming grandeur of Harrenhal, and it could not rival the towering heights of the Eyrie.
Instead, it rested atop a gentle rise, surrounded on every side by the Reach’s famously fertile farmlands.
As far as the eye could see, endless emerald fields stretched across the landscape, lush and vibrant beneath the open sky.
At that moment, the heir to Goldengrove, Gawen Rowan, stood alone amidst nature.
He was ten years old.
His chestnut hair swayed softly in the breeze, a few faint freckles dotted the sides of his straight, expressive nose, and the youthful contours of his face had yet to fully mature.
Yet beneath those boyish features lay a calmness and composure far beyond his years.
The morning mist had already lifted.
His breathing gradually synchronized with the whispering wind as golden sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy, bathing the young heir in a warm, gentle glow.
[Living in harmony with nature…
Breath of Life +1]
[Living in harmony with nature…
Breath of Life +1]
…
His consciousness drifted into an endless emerald void.
A hazy sea of verdant light flowed around him.
He could sense the breath of every tree nearby, the gentle swaying of every blade of grass.
[Living in harmony with nature…
Breath of Life +1]
[Breath of Life has reached its maximum.]
[Class Unlocked: Phoenix Druid]
“Finally…
I’ve completed it.”
Gawen abruptly opened his eyes and let out a long breath.
With a single thought, a translucent interface appeared before him.
Name: Gawen Rowan
Class: Phoenix Druid
Rank: Woodland Apprentice (Lv.
0)
Environmental Affinity: The Reach (Excellent)
Core Specializations:
Flora Mastery — Lv.
0 (0/100)
Wild Affinity — Lv.
0 (0/100)
Earth’s Resonance — Lv.
0 (0/100)
Nature’s Guardian — Lv.
0 (0/100)
Rebirth Incarnation — Lv.
0 (0/100)
Skills:
Sprout — Lv.
0 (0/50)
Whisperer — Lv.
0 (0/50)
Life Manipulation — Lv.
0 (0/50)
…
“Grandma, Grandma!
Tell me a story!
Please?”
As dusk settled over the city, Gawen was in an unusually good mood.
Hearing the little girl’s bright voice, he instinctively slowed to a stop.
A little girl of about seven looked up at an elderly woman with pleading eyes.
The streets bustled with carts, horses, and chattering townsfolk.
The old woman sighed softly.
“Very well, my dear…
Do you know which family rules these lands today?”
“I do!” the girl exclaimed, raising a finger.
“The Targaryens!
Dad told me they had dragons…
but the dragons are all dead now.
The king on the Iron Throne is Aerys, and everyone says he’s…
well…
a little strange.”
“Shh…”
The old woman quickly placed a finger against her granddaughter’s lips.
“Those aren’t things to say out in public.
But you’re right.
The Targaryens have ruled Westeros for nearly three hundred years.
Yet do you know who first opened up these lands back in the Age of Heroes?”
“The Greenhand.”
The little girl blinked expectantly.
“When the First Men first settled the Reach, the land was covered in weirwoods and sacred groves.
Everyone worshipped the Old Gods, offering prayers beside ancient trees and flowing streams.
“Then the Andals crossed the Narrow Sea.
They brought the Faith of the Seven with swords and septons, spreading it across the fertile plains of the Reach.
Over the centuries, the worship of the Old Gods gradually faded.
Septs rose in every town and village.
From Highgarden to Goldengrove, most people came to honor the Father, the Mother, and the other aspects of the Seven.
“Only a handful of ancient noble houses, those whose blood could be traced back to Garth Greenhand himself, preserved even a fragment of the traditions of the First Men.
House Rowan of Goldengrove is one such family.”
The old woman looked toward the distant castle, where the family banner fluttered atop its walls.
“Their lands stretch across much of the northern Reach.
Their banner is white, embroidered with a great golden tree—its trunk, branches, leaves, and fruit all shining like pure gold.”
“A golden tree?” the little girl asked.
“How can a tree be gold?”
“A good question.”
The old woman gently patted her tiny hand.
“The legend goes like this…
“A very long time ago, there lived a woman known as Rowan of the Gold-Tree, one of Garth Greenhand’s daughters.
“Garth Greenhand tamed the wilderness, cultivated the fields, and taught mankind agriculture.
The Gardener Kings, House Rowan, and many of the Reach’s oldest noble families all descended from him.
“But Rowan of the Golden Tree fell in love with a man…
and that man abandoned her for a wealthier rival.”
The little girl wrinkled her nose.
“He’s a bad man.”
“Perhaps.”
The old woman sighed.
“In any case, Rowan was heartbroken.
She cut off her long golden hair, wrapped it around an apple, and buried it atop a hill.
“In time, that apple truly grew into a tree…
Its bark was golden.
Its leaves were golden.
Even its fruit gleamed like sunlight.
“And that is how Goldengrove earned its name.”
“The daughter of that Gold-Tree became the first ancestor of House Rowan,” the old woman continued softly.
“Today, the lord of Goldengrove is Lord Mathis Rowan.
He married Lady Bethany of House Redwyne, and it’s not uncommon to see the household’s retainers riding through the streets.”
“Is he powerful?” the little girl asked.
“He is one of the bannermen sworn to House Tyrell,” the old woman nodded.
“But House Rowan possesses a bloodline even older and nobler than House Tyrell’s.
Their lineage runs directly to Garth Greenhand and the ancient Gardener Kings.
“Though the townsfolk now fill the septs and faithfully worship the Seven, deep within Rowan Castle stands an ancient weirwood, hidden away in a quiet courtyard.
It silently preserves the legacy of the First Men and the Old Gods.”
The girl thought for a moment.
“So the tree on their banner…
that’s the Golden Tree?”
“That’s right.”
The old woman smiled.
“Remember this well, my dear.
Every ancient house carries its history within its sigil.
“A tree never forgets the soil from which it grew.
Just as Goldengrove has never forgotten Garth Greenhand’s conquest of the wilderness…
nor the fading faith of the Old Gods.”
The little girl leaned against her grandmother’s knee, resting beside an old wooden stall.
“What about the noble ladies?
What happened to them?
They don’t fight in wars…
so they’re safe, aren’t they?”
The old woman gently stroked her hair.
“The days of endless war are long gone.
The dragons have vanished, and the ladies of House Rowan were married into other noble families long ago.
“But many years ago, before one elderly lady of House Rowan departed for the Starry Sept in Oldtown to offer prayers to the Seven…
she left behind a song.”
The grandmother smiled faintly.
Though weariness showed on her face, a quiet light lingered in her eyes.
“These days, few people still sing it through the streets of Goldengrove.
Yet many locals still remember it—especially those who believe the Golden Tree will one day bloom again, and that the ancient blood of the First Men will return.”
“A song?
What kind of song?”
The old woman lowered her voice until it was scarcely more than a whisper.
When every false lord has fallen,
The one chosen by the gods shall appear.
He is the heir of the ancient Gold-Tree.
Beneath the stars, he shall be crowned.
Across the fields, within tranquil light,
A single touch shall mend broken hearts,
Bringing living radiance and peace.
He shall guide
Those who have sunk into dreams,
To remember
The Golden Order,
And lead them
To the throne ordained by destiny.
The song slowly faded into the evening breeze.
Nestled against her grandmother’s lap, the little girl drifted to sleep beneath the warm glow of the city’s lanterns.
“The Golden Order…”
Gawen remained where he stood for a long while, quietly repeating the words—the ancient motto of his house.
His voice was calm.
He was the only son of Lord Rowan.
The heir to Goldengrove.
He had lived in this world for ten years.
In his previous life, he had been nothing more than an ordinary graduate student studying botany, living a mundane nine-to-five existence.
Then he died.
The exact cause had long since become hazy.
Perhaps he had been struck by a speeding truck that ran a red light.
Perhaps a sudden heart attack had claimed him alone in his tiny apartment.
When he opened his eyes again, he was a crying infant wrapped in linen swaddling clothes.
The first thing he saw was the smiling face of a beautiful woman with red hair and bright blue eyes.
“Gawen,” she had said softly.
“His name is Gawen Rowan.”
Rowan.
House Rowan of Goldengrove.
It had taken Gawen several years to realize where he had been reborn.
This was the continent of Westeros.
The world of A Song of Ice and Fire.
It was the television series he had watched through seven seasons before life became too busy to continue.
The novels he had sampled, only to set aside because of their sheer length.
He knew dragons had once soared through these skies.
He knew the White Walkers existed.
He knew magic was real.
What he didn’t know was what role House Rowan had played in the original story.
Through historical records, Gawen gradually pieced together the Reach’s past.
Before Aegon I Targaryen arrived roughly two hundred and fifty years earlier, these lands had been ruled by the descendants of Garth Greenhand—the Gardener Kings.
It was they who transformed the Reach into the richest and most fertile kingdom in Westeros, surpassed in size only by the North and the Westerlands.
Yet the end of their dynasty was deeply tragic.
During the Field of Fire, the combined armies of the Westerlands and the Reach met Aegon the Conqueror in battle.
They were utterly annihilated.
Every direct heir of the Gardener royal line perished in dragonfire.
When Aegon reached Highgarden, its gates stood open.
It was House Tyrell that surrendered the castle.
Once hereditary stewards to the Gardener Kings, they were rewarded with lordship over the Reach and named its Wardens.
Strictly speaking, House Tyrell was not even among the Reach’s oldest native dynasties.
Their earliest ancestor had merely been one of the frontier knights during the infancy of chivalry.
Through generations of service and repeated marriages into House Gardener, they steadily rose in status.
By every measure of bloodline, House Rowan possessed a stronger claim to rule the Reach.
So did House Redwyne and many of the region’s other ancient noble families.
That history was forever etched into Gawen’s heart.
One day, he intended to restore his family’s glory—and see the legacy of Garth Greenhand rise once more.
Who cared about the Iron Throne?
The Reach was prosperous enough to stand on its own.
Its ancient kingdom had fallen only because dragons had existed.
In theory, reviving that dynasty was entirely possible.
All he had to do was reveal the power of a druid.
Once people witnessed true nature magic, they would remember the legendary Garth Greenhand.
He had spent ten years preparing.
Aside from his education, nearly every spare moment had been devoted to meditation and communing with nature.
At last, he had unlocked the Phoenix Druid class.
The system had granted him five core specializations.
Flora Mastery allowed him to identify herbs and perceive the condition and growth of plants.
Wild Affinity enabled him to soothe beasts and establish a subtle connection with animals.
Earth’s Resonance let him sense mineral veins and underground rivers beneath the soil.
Nature’s Guardian granted him the ability to predict changes in the weather—a remarkably useful talent during the Reach’s harvest season.
And Rebirth Incarnation was the core of his very being.
It determined the maximum amount of natural energy his body could contain and, in time, would unlock ritual magic and dominion over flame.
At its highest level, it promised an undying body, reborn again and again, capable of enduring even the Long Winter without fear.