The year was 291 AC.
Three years had passed since Michel Arryn first picked up a wooden sword in the training yard of the Red Keep.
Three years of bruises.
Three years of relentless training.
Three years under the watchful eye of one of the greatest knights in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.
And the boy who had once stood trembling in the yard was now something else entirely.
The morning sun illuminated the royal training grounds as two figures circled each other.
One was a tall knight with silver hair, his white cloak fluttering softly in the breeze.
Ser Barristan Selmy.
The other was a boy.
Eight years old.
But there was nothing ordinary about him.
Michel Arryn stood nearly five feet two inches tall, towering over most boys his age. His body was lean and muscular, every movement controlled and precise.
In his hands was a wooden practice sword.
Barristan attacked first.
Fast.
A strike aimed at Michel's shoulder.
Michel stepped aside smoothly.
Their swords clashed.
Wood cracked against wood again and again as the two moved across the yard.
Observers gathered along the edges of the training grounds—guards, squires, servants, even a few curious knights.
Because this was no ordinary sparring match.
The boy fought toe to toe with Ser Barristan Selmy himself.
Barristan struck again.
Michel blocked.
Michel countered.
Barristan parried.
Back and forth they moved in a deadly rhythm of attack and defense.
Neither giving ground.
Neither gaining the advantage.
Finally Barristan stepped back and lowered his sword.
Silence fell across the yard.
Then the old knight smiled.
"Well done."
Michel lowered his blade and bowed respectfully.
The gathered spectators murmured in amazement.
Across King's Landing, people had begun whispering a new name.
The Demon Falcon.
The name had spread after the incident one month ago.
Three assassins had attempted to kill the young heir of the Vale while he walked through the streets near the Red Keep.
They had expected an easy target.
A noble child.
Instead they met a storm.
Michel had fought them alone.
Three grown killers.
Three corpses left bleeding in the alley.
The story spread like wildfire through the city.
And the name Demon Falcon was born.
The political winds of the realm had shifted as well.
Two years earlier, the Greyjoy Rebellion had shaken the Seven Kingdoms.
The Iron Islands had risen against the crown.
But King Robert Baratheon crushed the rebellion with overwhelming force.
Pyke burned.
Balon Greyjoy bent the knee.
And his youngest son, Theon Greyjoy, was taken as a ward by Eddard Stark in Winterfell.
Peace had returned to the realm.
At least for now.
Later that morning, Michel entered the royal dining chamber.
The king was already seated.
Robert Baratheon looked up the moment Michel entered.
A huge grin spread across his bearded face.
"Well look who it is!"
He pointed dramatically.
"The Demon Falcon himself!"
Laughter filled the chamber.
Michel bowed slightly.
"Good morning, Your Grace."
Robert waved his hand dismissively.
"Ah, stop that nonsense."
He leaned back in his chair with a chuckle.
"Your father is my foster father, boy. No need for all that courtesy."
Jon Arryn smiled faintly from his seat.
Robert continued proudly.
"Jon, your boy is a damn fine fighter."
Michel sat at the table calmly.
"Thank you, Your Grace."
But across the table, Queen Cersei Lannister watched him with cold eyes.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her goblet.
She hated it.
Hated the whispers in the city.
Hated the stories spreading through the streets.
Every tavern in King's Landing spoke of the same thing.
The boy who defeated assassins.
The boy who could spar with Barristan Selmy.
The boy whose talent rivaled even her twin brother.
Some even whispered that Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself, had failed to defeat the boy in a practice match.
Jealousy burned inside her like poison.
Michel noticed the look.
But he said nothing.
He simply ate his breakfast calmly.
Later that day Michel walked toward the Tower of the Hand.
Inside, Jon Arryn was reading letters at his desk.
When Michel entered, the old lord looked up.
A warm smile appeared on his face.
Jon Arryn felt something rare when he looked at the boy.
Pride.
House Arryn had an heir worthy of its legacy.
Michel was not only strong.
He was intelligent.
Thoughtful.
Already learning the delicate game of politics.
The perfect lord for the Vale.
"Michel," Jon said.
Michel bowed slightly.
"Father."
Jon set the letter aside.
"What brings you here?"
Michel spoke calmly.
"Father, I wish to travel to the Eyrie."
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"And why is that?"
Michel's voice was steady.
"I am the heir of the Vale."
"I want to see our lands."
"I want to understand how our people live."
Jon Arryn leaned back in his chair, studying him carefully.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then slowly he nodded.
Good.
This was exactly what an heir should be thinking about.
The lords of the Vale would soon see their future lord.
And Michel himself would learn the realities of ruling.
Jon finally spoke.
"You may go."
Michel straightened slightly.
"But," Jon continued, his tone turning serious.
"You will go not simply as my son."
"You will go as acting lord."
Michel's eyes sharpened.
Jon Arryn continued.
"You will not have the authority to summon the great houses of the Vale."
"But you will command the five thousand soldiers stationed at the Eyrie."
"This will be a test."
Jon leaned forward slightly.
"A test of how well you can manage the Vale."
Michel's expression remained calm.
But inside, excitement surged.
This was exactly the opportunity he wanted.
Michel bowed his head.
"I understand."
"I will not disappoint you, Father."
Jon Arryn smiled faintly.
"I know."
Later, as Michel walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, his thoughts raced.
Soon he would return to the Vale of Arryn.
And this time…
He would not return as a child.
He would return as a ruler.
Even if only temporarily.
Michel looked out over the distant mountains beyond the city.
Now he would begin the next stage of his plan.
As acting lord…
He could begin quietly applying the knowledge from his previous life.
Engineering.
Agriculture.
Military improvements.
Infrastructure.
The Vale would grow stronger.
Stronger than anyone expected.
Michel's eyes gleamed with determination.
Soon…
The Vale will become the strongest region in Westeros.
And when the storms of war finally arrived…
The Demon Falcon would be ready