"Roar..."
The shrill roar of the Blood Wyrm echoed around the Black Wall as it descended.
Clatter...
The crowd knelt in unison, their faces filled with fear as they gazed at the man and dragon before the tower. Rhaegar stood silently, accepting their reverence.
From the moment he encountered the first guard, he knew the people of Volantis had not forgotten their former emperor, even if his reign had been brief and fleeting.
Among the crowd, an old man crawled forward, tears streaming from his eyes. "Your Grace, I am grateful to you for killing Tesrio," he said, his voice trembling with emotion.
With this proclamation, the power dynamic was clear. The garrison and guards, seeing the tide had turned, abandoned their weapons and knelt in respect.
Though the title of emperor might have once been considered a joke, the influence of the emperor's authority had left a lasting impact on Volantis. The reduction of the division between the eastern and western districts, the cleanup of the harbor, and the suppression of deep-rooted crime were all Rhaegar's initiatives, carried out by the Triarch of the Elephant Party for ten years. Even if the Triarchs had been lazy, these policies still left a significant mark on the common people and the slave class.
Rhaegar, with Truefyre with both hands, declared resolutely, "From this day forth, Volantis is under the protection and jurisdiction of the Iron Throne!"
Boom!
Cannibal leaped from the building, landing with a resounding thud and looking up at the sky with its large, green eyes. With a single leap, the already precarious power collapsed, exploding into a different kind of fireworks.
"Long live Your Grace, the Emperor!"
"Long live the Dragonlord!"
The crowd erupted with emotion, shouting for the emperor at the top of their lungs, gazing at the man and the dragon with a mixture of fanaticism and worship.
From the beginning, the people of Volantis had never wanted war. The Free Cities had once been purged of corruption by Rhaegar, allied with the Triarchy to trade and prosper together. Turning against each other was less appealing than uniting under a true Dragonlord.
Rhaegar's stern face finally revealed a hint of a smile.
On the Black Wall, Caraxes crawled slowly, like a large blood-colored snake. Daemon looked down at his nephew, who was receiving the worship of the people, with a complex expression. What truly defines kingship?
Boom!
The Black Wall gate opened, and warriors in red robes rushed in. Each bore a tattoo of a flaming sword, armed with spears and round shields. They were the Hand of the Holy Fire of the Temple of R'hllor.
Rhaegar glanced at them, thinking, Here come the ones who will clean up the mess.
With an inside ally and an outside army, Volantis had changed hands.
...
The Next Day
The Triarch of the Elephant Party, His Residence
In the serene garden, birds chirped harmoniously. Rhaegar reluctantly woke up, his eyes still half-closed.
A system prompt echoed in his mind.
"This exploration is complete. Please pick up the lost treasure."
"..."
Two beeps followed in succession.
Rhaegar rubbed his eyes and reached for the flat surface of the bed. There lay a bronze basin and a blue clam shell, along with two halos of different sizes, one red and one blue.
Bo~
The red and blue light points exploded, transforming into small balls of bright light that eagerly nestled into his palm.
"Relic successfully retrieved, testing in progress..."
"Detection successful. Determined to be a legendary relic: the Attachment of Rhoynar."
"Detection successful. Determined to be a rare relic: the Spiritual Orb."
Rhaegar glanced around, finding himself in a cleared tower. He whispered, "Legendary and rare. The Rhoynar really have something."
A blue drop of water and a blue crystal ball materialized in front of him. The water drop, "Rhoynar's Attachment," was soft and cool to the touch, resembling a sapphire ornament.
He called up the system panel and recorded the trigger word for the relic.
"The Water wizards of Rhoynar are the stalwarts shields against the Dragonlords, destined to carry the waters of the Rhoyne in their veins."
Rhaegar tilted his head in confusion and dropped the blue water drop into the bronze basin.
Drip drip...
The water rippled, and light rain fell along the edge of the basin. But nothing changed.
Undeterred, Rhaegar ordered his servants to fetch something. He then examined the bronze basin, the blue pearl, and the spirit pearl. The bronze basin, a "sacred object," reminded him of the fiery red heart inlaid at the end of the Truefyre sword.
Using the basin to wash his face, he felt refreshed and invigorated. On a whim, he scooped up a spoonful of the water and drank it. The water was cold and slightly sweet, dispelling his fatigue.
"It's delicious," Rhaegar said approvingly. Whether the basin held any other powers was uncertain, but the water it contained was definitely extraordinary. It seemed to possess a trace of magic, promising to nourish the Spirit and repair hidden wounds in the body with prolonged consumption.
After securing the bronze basin, Rhaegar declared with certainty, "It's a treasure. I wouldn't trade it for a Free City." He intended to take it back to share with his wife and children.
Next, he turned his attention to the blue clam shell and the spiritual pearl. The clam shell appeared ordinary, but upon closer inspection, Rhaegar noticed it contained a hidden reservoir of water magic.
"A magic clam's pearl?" Rhaegar mused, recalling the legends of the Rhoynar. During the Age of the Free Cities, magical tides surged, filling the world with mystical creatures. In Westeros, the children of the forest and giants lived together. In the North, the Iron Islands, and the Vale, direwolves, sea monsters, and shadow cats roamed freely.
Over time, as the tide of magic ebbed, humans became dominant, and these magical beings faded into history. Before the Battle of the Rhoyne, Dragonlords had hunted a giant turtle called the "Old Man of the River" in the Rhoyne, sparking a bloody battle that shook the world. This indicated the abundance of magical creatures in ancient times compared to now.
"Another valuable find," Rhaegar concluded, tucking away the magic clam. He regretted slightly that while the Magic Pearl could store magic, it seemed suited only for water magic. Being a fire mage, it wasn't compatible with his abilities.
Finally, he examined the spirit orb. Rhaegar scrutinized it repeatedly before concluding, "A one-time relic." The orb was small, about the size of a fingertip. His eyes gleamed as he lightly squeezed it. With a crack, the orb shattered, releasing a wisp of blue silk-like magic that quickly turned fiery red.
Whoosh! The magic penetrated Rhaegar's chest. His spirit was invigorated as the fire magic in his blood surged and poured into his chest. Thud! Thud! His heart pounded wildly, and a small vortex formed, devouring all the fire magic in his blood. Rhaegar was astonished; he had never experienced anything like this.
Thump! Thump! With each heartbeat, the vortex rotated, purifying the fire magic and mixing it back into his bloodstream. This process continued until the amount of fire magic in his blood vessels had decreased. However, the previously restless fire magic had become unusually docile, like a hunting dog that had been tamed.
Creak! The door opened, and a servant entered, carrying a black-haired human head. The head was olive-skinned, and the brain cavity was empty.
...
Lys, Topless Tower.
Knock, knock!
The door was knocked on, and Helaena called out, "Who is it? Come in."
Creak. The door opened, and Mysaria, the White Worm, stood there with her slightly swollen belly.
"What are you doing here?" Helaena asked, seated on the floor, busy sewing little clothes. The two of them had no common ground and couldn't get along.
Mysaria, the White Worm, appeared calm. "Laena is back, with Corlys Velaryon, who is seriously injured."
Helaena turned around instantly, her nervousness evident. "How is he?"
"Don't worry, he's fine, better than anyone else," Mysaria replied as she walked into the room, her eyes fixed on Helaena. She said tentatively, "You care a lot about your brother, even more than you care about other people's opinions."
Helaena frowned, suspicious. "What are you trying to say?" Her brother was fine. Why was Mysaria here?
Mysaria stroked her stomach. "We are both second wives. We should help each other."
Helaena's frown deepened, and she gripped the long knitting needles in her hands. Mysaria sat down on the floor, maintaining a calm expression. "We can't compete with the first Lady. You are a thorn in Rhaenyra's side, aren't you?"
"No!" Helaena retorted with contempt. "My brother loves me more than Daemon loves you, and I have no intention of undermining Rhaenyra's position."
Mysaria was speechless. She hadn't expected the usually talkative Helaena to be so sharp-tongued.
Helaena turned her head and issued a curt command. "Get out and don't come back."
Did Mysaria really think she was a fool? Rhaenyra had a firstborn and a secondborn as heirs, so she didn't care about Helaena's children. And for some reason, Rhaenyra's resistance to her was far less than Lady Jeyne of the Vale's.
When Rhaenyra learned of her pregnancy, she had a room specially fitted out for her in Summerhall and brought all her usual female companions and courtiers to Lys. Her attitude was clear: she was happy to accept the birth of the child in Helaena's womb. Under these circumstances, and since she had no intention of competing for favor, why bother with the precarious White Worm? The dragon has three heads and they don't bite each other.
Mysaria, the White Worm, froze in place, unable to move. Daemon was leading the dragon on a campaign, and she felt like she was in constant danger.
She had tried to contact Lady Jeyne in the Vale, hoping for some camaraderie as they were both third parties rejected by the original wife. Unfortunately, The Eyrie did reply, but the letter was written to Princess Lyanna, ending with a special message: "An eagle does not associate with worms."
Early that morning, Laena had returned to Lys on Vhagar, bringing with her the badly injured and dying Lord of Driftmark. Mysaria, the White Worm, thought her chance had come. She took a risk and tried to win over the young princess Helaena, but was rejected even more decisively.
Helaena clenched her long needle, muttering, "Go away, don't bother me," as she tried to keep her composure. She was afraid that if Mysaria stayed any longer, she would lose control and lash out. Pregnancy had made her nerves very sensitive.
Mysaria, the White Worm, stared at her for a long time, then got up in a daze. Born lowly, inferior to everyone, she couldn't even find a decent ally.
Creak!
The door opened, and two figures happened to block the way.
"White Worm?" Rhaenyra frowned immediately and checked to see if Helaena was all right on the carpet. Helaena only glanced at the three of them and then resumed sewing her little dress as if it were none of her business.
Rhaenyra glared at Mysaria, the White Worm, and demanded, "Mysaria, what are you doing in Helaena's room?" Rhaegar had entrusted her with Helaena's care before he left, and she was determined not to fail him.
Mysaria, the White Worm, was nervous but forced herself to look the two people in front of her in the eye. Laena, in her red armor, gazed at her coldly and steely.
...
As dusk fell, the sun began to set. In the bedroom where the model sailboat hung, the Sea Snake, with lips as pale as blood, lay on his back on the couch.
"How is it?" Laena asked impatiently.
Helaena looked up at her, locked eyes, and said, "He's not the type of Velaryon who would die in his bed." A serpent with no eyes or ears crawled across her palm, hissing.
(Word count: 2,000)