The little room was far from comfortable, but for most people in Westeros, it was already considered a luxury.
It was small…
But at least it was yours.
Many people came to the Citadel for exactly that reason.
They spent their entire lives as apprentices, performing simple chores in exchange for food, shelter, and a roof over their heads.
Even that was a better life than toiling endlessly in the fields.
The Citadel wasn’t a place of equality.
Commoners slept in large communal dormitories that resembled military barracks.
Only noble-born students were given private rooms like this one.
Even then, the heirs of great houses rarely came here.
More often, it was the second or third sons—the children who would inherit nothing.
Rather than let them remain idle, their families sent them to acquire knowledge and serve the house in other ways.
Nor was becoming a maester compulsory.
Anyone could leave once they had learned what they came for.
“I’ll have to make this place more livable.”
Gawen muttered as he stood.
He rummaged through his pack and took out a pouch of seeds brought from Goldengrove.
Among them were several fast-growing vine seeds.
With Sprout, they could grow into soft vines within a few hours—more than enough to weave a mattress and pillow far more comfortable than straw.
Still…
That could wait.
Gawen left his room.
He still needed to collect his luggage from the inn, check out, and stable his horse.
Those mundane errands consumed more than an hour.
Once everything had finally been settled, he remembered his promise to spar with his newest acquaintance.
The only problem…
Oberyn had never mentioned where.
Fortunately, Gawen still had his raven.
Using his skinchanger abilities, he searched Oldtown through the bird’s eyes.
Finding one person in a city this large wasn’t easy.
But logic simplified things considerably.
If he identified the major entrances and exits of the residential districts first, the search became much easier.
Before long, he spotted the Dornishman emerging from a western side gate.
Taking a shortcut, Gawen waited in a narrow alley between two stone buildings.
When Oberyn appeared, he raised an eyebrow.
“Were you following me?”
After a brief look of surprise, he burst into laughter.
“And you even stole someone else’s trick!”
“We agreed to spar.”
Gawen pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against.
“You just neglected to mention where.”
“You’re quick.”
Oberyn glanced at the sky.
Judging from his expression, the cunning fox had clearly been planning something else.
“Very well.”
“Let’s head to Raven Isle.”
“It’s quiet there.”
“And we’ll have plenty of space.”
The two made their way toward one of Oldtown’s more secluded islands.
Their destination was Raven Isle, home to an ancient fortress known as Raven’s Nest.
For what was now little more than a crumbling ruin, the name sounded rather grand.
Time had not been kind to the fortress.
Nor had anyone bothered maintaining it for decades.
The island also housed the largest rookery in all of Westeros.
Thousands of ravens were bred and trained there to carry messages across the realm.
Even the rare white ravens—the birds used by the Citadel to announce the coming of winter—were raised here.
A narrow stone bridge connected the island to the mainland.
Ivy crept through countless cracks between the weathered stones.
“They say this is the oldest structure belonging to the Citadel.”
Oberyn remarked as they stepped into the ruined courtyard.
His introduction ended there.
Silence blanketed the place like a cemetery.
Only the occasional harsh caw of ravens echoed overhead, making the atmosphere feel even more eerie.
“I believe it.”
Gawen examined the ancient black stone walls, now thick with moss.
Then…
His gaze froze.
“Hm…”
Standing at the center of the courtyard was a colossal heart tree.
Its sprawling crimson canopy stretched wide enough to cover the entire courtyard beneath its branches. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
The heart tree was nearly dead.
Only a scattering of crimson leaves clung to its branches, swaying gently in the breeze.
Several ravens perched among the limbs, watching the newcomers with curious eyes.
“Caw!”
One raven cried out louder than the rest.
Gawen walked over and placed a hand against the ancient trunk.
[Heart Tree (Weirwood) residual energy detected.]
[Nature’s Guardian Proficiency +3]
A brilliant flash erupted.
His consciousness exploded into a kaleidoscope of fragmented visions—as if he were witnessing broken memories scattered across time.
The same fortress…
But from countless centuries ago.
Back then, pirates had occupied the island, preying upon every vessel that sailed the river.
This was long before Westeros knew of the Targaryens or their dragons.
Even the kings of House Hightower had yet to rule here.
The fortress was smaller in those days, yet far more imposing.
Its walls stood proud and unbroken.
Banners fluttered proudly above the battlements.
The courtyard bustled with life.
People laughed as they worked.
Young warriors practiced beneath the heart tree, whose crimson canopy was then lush and vibrant.
The vision shifted.
Chaos.
People fled in panic.
Arrows rained from the sky.
War cries and the thunder of steel echoed across the courtyard.
The great gates shuddered beneath repeated blows from a battering ram.
Boom!
With a deafening crash, the gates splintered inward.
A column of fully armored knights stormed through the breach.
Swords rose.
The slaughter began.
The scene changed once more.
Years had passed.
The fortress stood abandoned.
A cold wind swept dead leaves across the weed-choked courtyard.
A lone raven cawed from the dying heart tree.
One gate hung crookedly from broken hinges.
The other had long since collapsed into rotten fragments.
Through the ruined entrance walked a young man in worn robes.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
A sharp nose.
[Flann, why are you in such a hurry?]
For the first time, a young woman’s voice echoed through the vision.
A girl hurried after him.
[What a dreadful place…]
“You alright?”
Oberyn’s cheerful voice suddenly cut through everything, dragging Gawen back to reality.
“I’m fine…”
“I just drifted off for a moment.”
He withdrew his hand from the tree and gently shook his head to clear the lingering haze.
[Green Sight activated.]
[Obtained Heart Tree Memory Fragments ×3.]
[Current proficiency insufficient for analysis.]
[Nature’s Guardian must reach Level 3.]
The phenomenon known as the Green Sight—and experiencing time through the Green—was entirely new to Gawen.
It felt like a strange fusion of natural magic and psychic magic.
He was already accustomed to meditation, mental discipline, and defending his mind against outside influence.
But this…
This vivid invasion of memory was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
His mind could endure it.
Yet on a purely mental level, it still felt profoundly unfamiliar.
His knowledge of psychic disciplines remained limited.
He understood meditation.
He knew how to remain within his own consciousness.
He knew how to repel mental intrusions.
Beyond that…
Very little.
Yet this living journey through forgotten memories stirred something deep inside him.
More than anything, it awakened an overwhelming desire to understand exactly how it worked.
If I can truly master this… Visit g.com for the full chapter.
A thought flashed through his mind.
Then I could peer into the distant past…
perhaps even the present.
Bran Stark could do it.
If I reached that level…
who would ever need a spy network again?
He had considered building an intelligence network before.
The problem had always been a lack of trustworthy people.
[System Notice: Green Sight skill can be unlocked.]
[Requirement: Nature’s Guardian Lv.3.]
“I hope that’s true.”
Oberyn sighed.
“But it sounds hard to believe.”
Fortunately, he didn’t pry any further.
Walking several paces away, he used the butt of his spear to draw a large circle in the dirt.
Their makeshift arena.
“This should do.”
“What do you think?”
“Works for me.”
Leaving the massive roots of the heart tree behind, Gawen stepped into one side of the circle.
Oberyn slipped the spear from his back and casually spun it in his hands.
“A swordsman…”
He studied Gawen thoughtfully.
“You can use both hands equally well, can’t you?”
The young Dornish warrior had already noticed.
Gawen unsheathed his sword and switched it effortlessly between his right and left hands.
That alone was answer enough.
“That’s right.”
“My goal is to master a dual-wielding style.”
“Confident.”
Oberyn nodded with approval.
“I know someone who fights like that.”
“He’s trained that way since childhood.”
Gawen smiled.
“I’ve heard of House Dayne.”
The legendary sword Dawn.
And Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, destined to become one of the greatest knights in Westerosi history.
Recalling the original story, Gawen knew Arthur had probably not yet reached the height of his fame.
But in time…
He would become a legend.
“Very well.”
Oberyn grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth.
“Let’s see what you can do.”
With a flick of his wrist, the spearhead trembled.
Then he lunged.
His footwork was astonishingly light.
His body flowed like a serpent, smoothly shifting his weight between heel and toe as he advanced.
The spear shot forward like a striking viper—
Fast.
Precise.
Merciless.
It drove straight toward Gawen’s face.
No probing attacks.
No testing strikes.
His very first move was meant to kill.
Gawen instantly understood the nature of the attack.
Against a spearman, there was only one true chance of victory—
Close the distance.
Force the fight into point-blank range where the spear’s reach became a liability.
Of course…
Even then, a master spearman remained deadly.
More often than not, you’d still die.
And that…
Was precisely what Gawen intended to test.
Twisting sideways, he let the flat of his blade glide along the shaft of the spear, effortlessly redirecting the thrust.
Then, in the same motion, he stepped half a pace forward, closing the distance.
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