Kesi was the first person to follow Karl after he came to King's Landing. When Karl first met him, the man was down on his luck, living off petty crimes near the Mud Gate—pickpocketing, cheating travelers, and running small scams to fill his belly.
Their meeting, however, was nothing short of dramatic.
Kesi had spotted Karl wandering through the bustling streets, his eyes bright and curious like any newcomer. Thinking he'd found a gullible mark, the grinning rogue approached him with practiced ease.
"First time in King's Landing, eh? You should visit Silk Street!" Kesi had said cheerfully, puffing his chest with pride as if he were introducing the Seven Kingdoms' greatest treasure.
Karl, newly arrived and still adjusting to this world, had no idea what "Silk Street" really was.
In truth, it was the city's most famous pleasure district—a place where the perfume was stronger than the honor of any man who entered.
Later, Karl learned exactly what kind of place Kesi had been promoting.
But contrary to Kesi's expectations, Karl didn't waste coin on drunken nights or cheap women. Instead, he found himself visiting Chataya's, one of the most refined brothels in the city, tucked behind Rhaenys's Hill.
Its owner, Chataya, was a tall and graceful woman from the Summer Isles, her skin dark as polished mahogany, her eyes bright as amber. Her establishment was famous not only for its beauty but also for its discretion. Even King Robert himself had been a regular visitor, and it was said that Lord Tyrion Lannister occasionally frequented the place as well.
It was here that Kesi realized Karl Stone was no ordinary young man.
When Karl later offered him a job—"Join me. Work for me instead of rotting behind the Mud Gate"—Kesi didn't hesitate. He accepted immediately.
Being a sellsword wasn't glorious work, but it was better than being beaten by the City Watch for stealing bread.
Karl, for his part, had taken a liking to Kesi's quick wit and street smarts. The man might have been missing a tooth, but he had a sharp mind and sharper instincts—traits that were invaluable for surviving in the capital.
With Kesi's help, Karl began rebuilding what he had once been in another world—a leader, a strategist, and a survivor. In this world, those instincts had saved his life more than once.
He had decided to return to the only profession he truly knew: being a mercenary.
---
Kesi quickly became his right-hand man. Despite his rough edges, he had an uncanny ability to read people, to sense danger before it arrived, and to know which taverns to avoid when trouble brewed.
But today, his words from earlier still echoed in Karl's mind.
> "Boss, I heard the Queen doesn't seem to like you."
The remark had been meant as a joke, yet Karl couldn't completely ignore it.
Jon Arryn—the man who had once protected him, the man who had quietly arranged his place in the royal household—was dead. That death had left Karl exposed, vulnerable, and whispered about.
Without Jon Arryn's influence, he was just another bastard—one with too much ambition for his own good.
And in a place like King's Landing, that could be fatal.
---
Kesi, unaware of the depth of Karl's thoughts, had returned to the group.
"Dog Tooth Kesi, got yelled at again, eh?" one of the mercenaries teased, a grin spreading across his scarred face. "Told you to keep your mouth shut! Every time you talk, the wind blows something out that should've stayed in your pants!"
The others burst out laughing.
"Exactly! Even Mary from Simon's Tavern said your breath smells like the Mud Gate gutters!"
"Oi! You damn bastards!" Kesi snapped, baring his missing tooth. "Don't tell me you were sniffing around Mary behind my back! I'll tell Simon myself!"
"Ha! You did it too, you rotten dog! I saw you with her that night!" another mercenary shouted.
The crude banter filled the air. Their vulgar laughter rolled across the open field, mixing with the faint whinny of horses and the rustle of the northern wind.
Despite the filth in their jokes, Karl couldn't help but smile.
A few sharp words from him earlier had put these rough men at ease again. For all their wicked tongues, they were simple creatures—mercenaries who feared hunger more than death.
Karl looked at them, half amused and half thoughtful. These men weren't loyal soldiers or knights; they followed coin and confidence.
Without either, he would lose them.
"Alright, you bastards!" Karl suddenly shouted, standing up from where he'd been resting beneath a tree. "Stop stuffing your mouths with words and start saving your strength! We move out in twenty minutes!"
He pointed toward the northern road ahead. "We need to find an inn fit for the King before dark—one that can hold all that fat of his!"
Laughter erupted again.
"Ha! Does such an inn even exist?"
"Maybe if we stuff the King into the stables!"
Karl smirked. "If you've got time to flap your tongues, use it to brush your horses. Move!"
The mercenaries scattered, still laughing and throwing insults.
---
As the group settled down to rest before their next ride, Karl's gaze drifted again toward the distant green hill, where a few noblewomen's attendants were gathered. They sat on a blue blanket spread across the grass, giggling and whispering.
For a brief moment, his eyes softened.
But if one were to look closely, they would see that Karl's expression wasn't one of desire. His eyes were distant—unfocused. His thoughts were elsewhere, carried far beyond the reach of the King's Road.
> So this is what fate feels like, he thought quietly.
Kesi's words had reminded him of everything he'd lost… and everything he'd gained.
Because Karl Stone—known to everyone as a bastard of the Vale—wasn't truly a child of this world.
---
He remembered the day he first woke up here.
The confusion. The panic. The unfamiliar sky.
He had died once—in another world far beyond Westeros. A world filled with iron, smoke, and endless war. He had been a commander then, one who led men through battlefields painted in fire and blood.
But death had not taken him completely.
Instead, when he opened his eyes again, he had been reborn in this fragile body—a bastard son of the Vale, weak, half-starved, and nameless.
He had inherited the memories of Karl Stone: his childhood in the Eyrie, his service as a page, the lonely years spent beneath the watchful eyes of nobles who never acknowledged his existence.
But the soul inside was not the same.
Karl was no longer just a nameless boy. He was someone who had lived, fought, and died in another life—and this time, he would rise again.
The world of Westeros was cruel, but so was the one he came from. And if there was one thing Karl had learned across both lives, it was this: strength ruled everything.
---
Kesi's words from before still echoed in his head.
> "They say the Queen doesn't like you…"
Karl smiled bitterly. Of course she didn't.
He was Jon Arryn's "bastard"—a living reminder of a past that many wanted buried. And now, with the Hand of the King dead, he was a man with no protector.
"Don't talk nonsense in the future," Karl had warned Kesi earlier. "Or those 'important people' will have your tongue. Think about how you lost your tooth."
The memory made him chuckle softly.
Kesi was a fool, but he was loyal in his own way.
Still, Karl knew the danger that lurked beneath the surface. In the game of thrones, even a careless rumor could mean death.
---
The sky above began to shift—gold fading into amber as the sun sank lower. The faint rumble of wheels could be heard in the distance; the King's massive convoy was drawing near.
Karl straightened his back and looked to the horizon.
The crown's banners fluttered in the wind, the golden stag on a field of black swaying proudly in the fading light. Behind it rolled the enormous carriage of Queen Cersei, shining like a moving temple of gold and oak.
Soon, they would all head north—to Winterfell.
To most, it was just another royal progress.
But to Karl Stone, it was the beginning of something far greater.
For in this world of power and betrayal, of kings and bastards, he would not remain a mere pawn.
He clenched his fists slowly.
> "This time," he whispered under his breath, "I will carve my own name into history. Not as an illegitimate son… but as the rightful heir to my fate."
The northern wind carried his words away, lost among the whispers of trees and the clatter of hooves.
Karl Stone mounted his horse once more, his sharp eyes glinting beneath the fading light.
The road ahead was long, dangerous, and uncertain—
but for the first time in this new life, he felt truly alive.