I woke in fire, in pain and agony. I survived the shores of Mustafar. I am in the hell that was Darth Vader's life. Let's see if I can turn hell into heaven.

I died content. I woke in a bastard's body, six years old, with a world I recognized and a future I refused to accept. Jon Snow was meant for the Wall. I have other plans. Dragons. Conquest. Empire. Canon derailed before it started—and somewhere in the frozen dark, the Others are still waiting. SI, major AU/EU, Valyrian empire-building.

One moment, I was dying. The next, I woke up in a child's body — with a scar and a name that shouldn't be mine. The magic is heavier. The world is older. This world hides monsters far worse than Voldemort — and I don't plan on dying twice.

Waking up in Skyrim, this self-insert follows my journey through a brutal world of war, magic, and dragons. Vampires are terrifying forces, werewolves primal beasts, dragons gods of destruction. Over years of trials, I'll forge bonds, master power, seek immortality, and carve my legacy in blood and fire.

One moment, I was dying — beaten, broken, bleeding out. The next, I was electrocuted, my body burning. Now, I wake up too young, too weak, too wrong. The body in the mirror isn't mine, but the world around me doesn't care. And the ghosts? They aren't what I remember. Ancient, vicious monsters lurk here. This isn't a cartoon. This is reality.

996.M36. The Age of Apostasy. Two Earth-born souls woke in the Imperium seventeen years ago. One became a Commissar. One became a Tech-Priest. Human-scale grimdark. No power fantasy.

Daemon Targaryen — prince, kinslayer, rogue, rider of the Blood Wyrm. Follow his final moments above the Gods Eye, the last dance of fire and fury between Caraxes and Vhagar. The duel between uncle and nephew.