"And in the hour between dusk and night, a new fate was carved into the song of ice and fire — by a blade not of this world."
— Unknown Seer of Asshai
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The evening breeze was still, the city alive with the hum of modern life. Neon lights flickered across apartment windows, soft J-pop melodies spilled from open rooms, and the scent of grilled food wafted from nearby stalls. Inside a quiet Tokyo bedroom, a lone figure sat beneath a hanging lamp, completely absorbed in his book.
His name was Kaito Yukimura, a seventeen-year-old high school student. Black-haired, lean, and sharp-eyed behind his glasses, he was one of many whose reality revolved around anime, manga, and the long scroll of isekai light novels. In this moment, however, he wasn't just a fan — he was immersed.
His fingers clutched the latest volume of High School DxD, eyes wide at a particularly intense battle scene. His heartbeat quickened. His mind raced with ideas — alternate timelines, self-insert fantasies, overpowered protagonists.
Then suddenly…
Everything stopped.
A sharp pulse echoed in his skull. His vision blurred. A sudden dizziness gripped him like unseen chains dragging him under water.
> "What's… happening…?"
The book fell from his hands.
His heart pounded once, then twice, and then — silence.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When Kaito opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his room.
The air was colder. Thinner. Tainted with blood and war.
He blinked slowly, finding himself lying atop a stone floor, beneath broken moonlight. Towering above him were shattered columns and ancient, sand-swept stone walls. The distant howl of wind echoed like a mourning wail across the desolate ruin.
Then the pain hit.
A searing agony raced through his spine, not like injury, but transformation. His nerves burned. His muscles tensed. He clutched his chest — his hands were not his own.
Slender. Pale. Strong. And tattooed with faded elven runes.
He stumbled to his feet and staggered to a shattered piece of polished stone — a crude mirror. What looked back was not a teenage boy from Tokyo…
But a young elven warrior with regal features, a faint scar over his left eye, and two long pale-blonde braids that draped over a slim, muscular frame.
> "Who… is this…?"
Then came the flood.
Memories. Foreign. Ancient. Piercing.
Swords clashing under twilight. Blood spilled under sacred moons. A name whispered over centuries…
"Köinzell…"
He gasped and fell to his knees, his mind tearing apart and reforging into something new — someone new.
Kaito Yukimura was dead.
In his place stood Köinzell, the elven swordsman who had once mastered ten thousand blades, whose name had rung across forgotten elven lands — and now, somehow, stood at the edge of a broken world.
Just then, the sound of steel on steel rang through the ruined tower.
He turned toward the stairway.
Three men in armor ascended — one in grey and white, bearing a direwolf sigil. Another in red with a lion etched in gold. And behind them, with fire in his eyes and grief in his bones — a northern lord, still young but haunted.
> Eddard Stark.
Köinzell's gaze sharpened. He knew this scene. He'd seen it in wiki pages, in fan videos, in lore debates.
> "The Tower of Joy…"
> "283 AC…"
> "Lyanna Stark… is still alive in that room…"
The pieces clicked.
He wasn't just in another world — he was in the world of Game of Thrones. And not just anywhere… but at the pivotal moment before Robert's Rebellion sealed its fate.
The sky roared above him — distant thunder, or perhaps a dragon's cry.
Köinzell rose, his hand instinctively reaching for the blade strapped to his back.
It was no ordinary sword.
It was the Aetherbane Fang: Blade of the Forbidden Eclipse.
And as he drew it for the first time in this world, the blade pulsed with starless light — black as void, veined with glowing indigo, like a god's dying breath.
The world trembled.
Fate had bent.
And so began the tale of a forgotten elven swordsman who fell through stars, wielding a blade that silenced divinity — into a world of ice and fire, blood and betrayal.