295 AC
How should I begin my story?
To be honest, I am not entirely sure. But perhaps, it is best to begin at the very beginning. Now, you might wonder, what do I mean by the very beginning?
Well, this is my third life. Or rather, the third life whose memories I still retain.
My first life was on modern-day Earth, just like everyone. I was a small businessman, and I did reasonably well for myself. Life was neither grand nor miserable. It was steady. Promising to some extent.
But fate is rarely so kind. I had just turned thirty. My business was on the verge of flourishing when a car accident brought everything to an abrupt end.
But that, as you have probably guessed, was not truly the end.
I was reborn. In the same world, Earth, but with a twist. A rather fantastical one.
I was reincarnated into a world I once thought to be fiction. The magical world of Harry Potter. And not just that, I was reborn as Harry Potter himself.
Armed with knowledge from my previous life, I was not the same miserable, neglected boy, the books described. I would not go into too many details, but let us just say, my second life was far more pleasant.
I became the Lord of House Potter and House Black. I grew rich and very powerful.
I wielded the Deathly Hallows. I duelled and killed Voldemort. My name was revered and feared at the same time in the entire Wizarding World.
And I lived a life full of debauchery. When you are one of the most or even the most powerful man on the planet, and with wealth so vast that you would need few lifetimes to spend, there is nothing you cannot do.
If time allows, I will share that story in detail. But not today.
Eventually, even after being the so-called Master of Death, I had to face the inevitable. After living a long, long life, I willingly stepped through the veil.
And now, here I am, in my third life.
This time, I have transmigrated into the body of an eighteen-year-old young man. Once again, the world is familiar.
It is the world of Game of Thrones. Yes, that very world where main characters are killed by the dozens, where a queen rode her three dragons and burned everything in her path, and where creatures made of ice raised the dead to lead an army into battle.
And who was I in this brutal tale?
I was transmigrated as an entirely unexpected character. A side character to be specific.
My name in this life is Adrian. I am currently around eighteen years of age. My parents died years ago, leaving me an orphan from a young age.
I was born in a small village near Barrowton in the North of Westeros. I did not have any land to farm or any means to start a business, so I took up what could be called one of the easiest yet deadliest professions. That of a sellsword. It was not that I was very great with sword. I was just plain average but that was enough and had kept my predecessor alive for few years.
My predecessor generally stayed in port towns, where merchants gladly hired his services to protect their ships or caravans.
(Third POV)
Adrian was hired for his services on one such ship that was headed toward Lys. But in the middle of the journey, pirates attacked the vessel.
A battle ensued, and though Adrian and the other sellswords managed to repel the pirate assault, he suffered a grievous wound to his chest and fell unconscious and died.
When consciousness returned to the body, it was not the same Adrian who awoke. It was someone else. Someone older. Wiser. And far more dangerous.
Two weeks had passed since the battle with the pirates. Adrian, once Harry Potter, had fully settled into his new identity. In another day or two, they would make landfall in Lys.
Adrain was sitting cross-legged in his small cabin on the ship. A ripple of energy suddenly pulsed from his body, like a stone dropped into still water. Three objects materialized before him as they floated around him.
"Finally," Adrian breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
There they were, his greatest treasures. The legendary Deathly Hallows.
The Elder Wand. The Resurrection Stone. The Invisibility Cloak.
For two weeks he had struggled, trying to summon them. Though he could feel his magic, fragile but present, and his connection with the hallows, he had not been able to bring the Hallows into this world.
Perhaps it was because this body had been untouched from magic and was not adapted to wield it. But now, that had changed.
Adrian closed his eyes and reached inward. He could feel it now, the source of his power. His magical reserve was weak, yes, pitiful even, compared to what he had once wielded. But he did not mind.
It would grow. Given time, it would grow beyond even what it once was.
This world, too, had magic, though faded and raw. Dormant in most places, and misunderstood and hated by most people especially by the followers of the seven. But Adrian did not need its magic to thrive. He had his own.
The Deathly Hallows were more than legend. More than tools. They were something far greater. Especially the Resurrection Stone.
The stories people knew of it were half-truths. The true purpose, the true origin, and the power it held, those were secrets passed between few. And now, he was perhaps the only one left who knew them all.
The Resurrection Stone was never meant to summon the souls of the dead. That was a misconception. Its true purpose had been healing.
There are moments when the physical body sustains injuries so severe that it can no longer sustain the soul. In such instances, the soul is forced to slip beyond the veil of death, not out of fate, but out of necessity.
The Resurrection Stone was crafted to anchor the soul during these critical moments, to keep it tethered just long enough for the body to recover and once again become a suitable vessel. In essence, it was never about raising the dead. It was about preventing death from claiming the living too soon.
Moreover, the stone was created through the fusion of rare materials and immensely expensive elixirs, all enchanted with delicate and ancient magic. These ingredients granted the stone additional properties. It did not just anchor the soul. It enhanced the body.
Those who bore the stone had their physical condition, strength and resilience heightened to a very high degree.
Their wounds healed faster; their bodies endured more. And most importantly, their magical reserves were bolstered over time, growing deeper and more refined.
With all these thoughts in his mind, Adrian Dustin took a deep breath and all the three hallows were summoned inside his body. The previous faint connection finally settled and, in an instant, he felt the effects of the hallows on his body.
He would take some time, probably few moons, before he would achieve a peak physical condition and complex magic would come to him as easy as breathing.
Adrian stood up, a content smile on his face, and extended his hand.
With another ripple in the air, something else materialized in his hand. A sword.
It was a gleaming silver blade with a hilt adorned with eggs sized ruby.
The Sword of Gryffindor. In his previous life as Harry Potter, he had wielded this sword extensively. It was like an extension of his own arm.
Throughout his long life, the sword had remained with Harry, and he had improved it significantly. It was now a heavily upgraded version of the one Godric had originally commissioned from the goblins.
With another thought, the sword vanished into his body. It would need to have a proper sheath before he could strap it to his waist.
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