The sailor's screams had long since faded, leaving only the crackling of the brazier and the faint scent of charred flesh in the air. He had given me what I needed-half-mad ramblings of obsidian spires, tunnels of molten stone, and shadows that moved against the firelight. The Vault of Embers was no myth. It existed, buried in the ruins beyond the Smoking Sea, guarded by things that defied reason.
I left the chamber with measured steps, my mind already turning over the next course of action. Nyessis Maegyr was waiting in the antechamber, lounging against a marble pillar with the casual grace of a panther at rest.
"Did he tell you what you wished to know?" she asked, eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"He told me enough."
She smiled faintly. "Then you plan to go?"
I studied her. There was no mockery in her tone, only curiosity. "I do," I admitted. "But the Smoking Sea is not kind to those who tread its waters unprepared. I'll need a ship, a crew, and coin."
Nyessis tilted her head, considering. "That is a costly venture. One that many in Volantis would call suicide."
"Then I assume you will not stop me?"
She pushed away from the pillar, stepping closer. "On the contrary. I admire ambition when I see it. And if you truly intend to recover Valyrian secrets, I would be a fool to let you go alone."
I arched a brow. "You would come with me?"
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "I will not risk my life in the Smoking Sea. But I can ensure you have the means to reach it. House Maegyr does not invest in lost causes, Rhaegis. If you return with something of worth, then we will speak of true alliances."
I did not trust her, but I did not need to. Trust was a luxury; necessity was the only currency that mattered.
"Then we have an accord," I said.
"Indeed," she murmured, stepping past me. "I will make the arrangements. Be ready within the week."
As she disappeared into the torch-lit corridors, I turned my gaze to the darkened horizon beyond the palace windows.
Valyria had been swallowed by fire and ruin, but its echoes had not yet faded.
And soon, I would walk its Ashes.
-----
Voyage to Ruin
The ship that Nyessis Maegyr had secured for me was a Volantene war galley, sleek and swift, with a crew hardened by years of sailing the Summer Sea and beyond. Its captain, a grim-faced man named Otherys, bore the scars of a life spent on treacherous waters.
"We sail at dawn," he had told me, his voice like grinding stone. "The Smoking Sea is cursed. No sane man ventures near it without a reason strong enough to risk damnation. I pray yours is worth it."
I did not bother with reassurances. Those who doubted me would see the truth soon enough.
The week passed in restless preparation. Scrolls from the Hall of Records had offered little beyond old warnings and fragmented accounts, but I had pieced together enough to chart a course. The Vault of Embers lay somewhere beyond the ruined capital of Valyria, past the jagged isles formed from fire and molten stone. Even dragons were said to fear those lands.
By the time we set sail, the air was thick with unease. The crew, seasoned as they were, whispered of ghosts in the mist, of ships swallowed by waves that burned instead of drowned. Otherys said little, but I caught him sharpening his sword more often than a man expecting a simple voyage.
Nyessis had come to see me off, draped in flowing silks, her expression unreadable.
"Do try not to die," she said lightly, though her eyes studied me with something close to curiosity. "It would be disappointing if all your bold words amounted to nothing."
I smirked. "You'll know the truth soon enough."
She watched as the ship pulled away from the docks, her silhouette fading as Volantis shrank into the horizon.
For the first few days, the voyage was uneventful. The Summer Sea was calm, and the winds were favorable. But as we neared the remnants of Valyria, the waters grew darker, the air heavier with the scent of sulfur and something else-something ancient.
On the sixth night, the first omen came.
A storm rolled in without warning, the skies bleeding crimson as lightning forked across the heavens. The waves churned with an unnatural fury, and the crew whispered prayers to gods who had long since turned deaf ears to this cursed place.
And then the voices began.
Faint at first, carried on the wind like distant echoes. Then louder, insistent-a cacophony of whispers in a language I knew yet could not place. The air itself seemed to pulse with unseen power, thick with the weight of something watching.
Otherys found me at the bow, his face drawn. "This place is death," he muttered. "You feel it, don't you?"
I did. But where his voice was laced with fear, mine held only certainty.
"Then we sail forward," I said. "Into the ruin of kings."
And so we did.
As the storm raged around us, as the whispers grew into an anguished wail, I knew we had crossed the threshold.
Valyria was waiting.
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