note:First of all, I want to clarify that I'm using AI assistance. I only use it because I've never written before and I don't know how to structure a story very well, but I have plenty of ideas. Just know one thing: everything written here is my own work. The only thing is that to make the reading smoother and less tedious, I need AI help. Secondly, I don't speak English very well (I'm French). I write my story in French and then translate it into English. So if you find any inconsistencies or anything else, please let me know. That being said, I won't tolerate bad ratings just because I'm using AI. In any case, have a pleasant time; everything is free and I don't make any money from this.
Prologue: The First Season
The hospital room was silent, save for the gentle humming of the machines monitoring the heartbeat of a fifteen-year-old boy. The wind slipped softly through the half-open window, bringing in a cool breeze that felt strangely out of place in the heavy atmosphere of the room. A room that had become his world. His only world. Nathaniel lay there, staring at the ceiling with an absent gaze, lost in the thoughts of a boy far too young to face death, yet old enough to understand its presence.
His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his fine features, worn down by illness, made him unrecognizable to the few visitors he had ever received. His cheeks, once full of hope, had grown hollow. His lips, normally rosy, were nearly gray. His body, exhausted from the fight against the cancer ravaging every part of him, had become nothing more than a faint reflection of the person he might have been.
He was fifteen, but life had already made its choice for him.
The absence of his mother was something he knew little about. She had left him before he even understood what "abandonment" meant. His father, however… he remembered a little more. Or rather, he remembered the moments spent with him in the early years of his illness, at the hospital. He remembered his father's lost expression, the encouraging words that never meant much yet still managed to comfort him.
For a few months, his father had tried to give him hope. He had been there, always there, sitting by his bed, talking, repeating that he would fix everything, that he would never leave him. But one day, everything changed. The doctor, a calm man with cold eyes, delivered a verdict that could not be softened. There was no treatment left. The cancer had spread too far. Nathaniel hadn't understood the words completely — he had only caught pieces of sentences: "relief," "end," "limited time."
His father had listened, head lowered. Then he turned to his son, his eyes shattered, and said in a trembling voice:
"Everything's going to be alright, Nate. The doctors and nurses will take good care of you. This isn't the end, you know. Not yet. They'll help you, I promise."
But promises aren't always enough. Nathaniel, despite his age, knew this promise was nothing more than a mask hiding a deeper pain. His father stood up, throat tight, and without another word, left the room. Before crossing the doorway, he whispered:
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."
And he left. Nathaniel never saw him again.
Months passed. Nathaniel remained in that room, like an island lost in an ocean of solitude. He knew pain, of course, but it was the loneliness that consumed him day after day. Nurses came and went, but they were nothing more than blurry silhouettes in a world he no longer understood. Doctors, with their professional smiles and comforting words, were strangers too.
The memories of his father, the final words between them, haunted him. But there was no one to comfort him. No one to tell him everything would be alright, as his father had once promised. No one to love him, to help him endure the pain.
In this silent world, he often escaped into fictional stories. The small television in his room became his only link to the outside. He discovered a series — a strange one — about dragons, kings, and battles: Game of Thrones. He had never had many friends, but in these characters, he found a sort of comfort. Jon Snow, the young man with no place in the world, who fought anyway. Nathaniel saw himself in him — an abandoned child struggling toward something forever out of reach.
But unlike Jon, Nathaniel would not finish his story. He would never have the chance. The days passed, the episodes piled up, but he had no time to discover the ending. The last episode he saw was the one where Ned Stark was executed — a brutal moment that tore a silent cry from his heart. In that instant, he felt a strange connection to the character. Like Ned, he knew he would die before seeing the end of the story.
At fifteen, Nathaniel understood he would not live to see the end of the series — or even his own life.
His thoughts drifted into dreams of another existence, another reality.
He dreamed of a life he would never live. A life where he would be loved. A life where he would have a family. More than anything, he wanted to know love. He had seen it in movies, read about it in books — the same idea repeated everywhere: love, the bond between people, the thing that made them strong. But he had never known that love.
He had seen children play, families laugh together, and he would whisper, barely audible:
If only I had a chance… If I had a second chance…
He dreamed of finding someone who would love him, of having children, a home, of knowing what it felt like not to be alone. Of building a family he would protect with all his heart. Deep inside, he believed love was the only thing that could save him — the one thing he had always searched for and never found.
The end came slowly but inevitably.
At fifteen, Nathaniel had never had the chance to truly live. The cancer, that relentless shadow, consumed him piece by piece, and his exhausted body could no longer fight back. One night, as the machines beeped steadily, he slipped away, as quietly as a candle burning itself out.
In his final moments, as he felt life slipping away, he whispered a final thought:
If only… If only I had a second chance…
He would have found love. He would have built a family — a family to cherish and protect. He would have lived, simply lived, doing the things that mattered, creating something beautiful in this world before it was too late.
But none of that would ever happen.
End of the prologue.