Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

The next day, the sky was a vivid blue, and the grass gleamed a lush green. Rhaegar strolled across the grassland behind Twin Castle, his eyes fixed on the letter in his hands. The letter was brief, but its contents were anything but simple.

"Daemon actually ventured into the Smoking Sea!"

Rhaegar frowned slightly, a swirl of emotions stirring within him. His uncle certainly had grand ambitions and always managed to find a way to make his presence known. Yet, it was unlike Daemon to leave home so willingly.

'Let him explore the Smoking Sea first,' Rhaegar thought, shaking his head, unwilling to get involved.

"Roar..."

Cannibal crouched on the grass, its back arched high, sensing its rider's unease. Rhaegar glanced at the dragon and said flatly, "Eat your sheep."

"Roar..."

Cannibal’s green pupils narrowed in displeasure. The massive beast twisted its body, its front paws crushing the charred skeletons on the ground with its wings. 'Foolish rider, unworthy of a dragon's affection,' it seemed to think.

"Brother, we’ve got all the food and drink ready!" Daeron called out from a distance, his chest and back laden with cloth pouches.

Rhaegar chuckled silently. "Why not have your servant carry it?" he asked, tearing up the letter as he walked toward his eager younger brother.

Daeron puffed out his chest and laughed. "I’ll carry it myself. Your squire deserves a break."

"It's not that bad, little brother." Rhaegar took the large bundle, considering that Aegon's lands weren't as lenient as they seemed.

A soft hum filled the air as Rhaegar's space necklace activated. The red dragon on the round Valyrian steel pendant opened its eyes, swallowing the supplies into its five cubic storage compartments, enough to sustain them for half a month.

Daeron's eyes widened in surprise, his curiosity piqued by the magical item. "Isn't it magnificent?" Rhaegar asked with a smile, touching the pendant. "If I get the chance, I’ll make one for you too."

"Really?" Daeron was taken aback, knowing there were only two such space artifacts in the family. Even their eldest sister, Rhaenyra, didn’t have one.

"Just wait a little longer." Rhaegar placed his hands behind his back and climbed onto the dragon with practiced ease. His spirit power had grown, and his skill in engraving runes had improved by leaps and bounds. Once he mastered the fusion of fire magic and runes, he would be able to craft a spatial artifact.

"Roar!"

With Rhaegar securely on its back, the Cannibal let out a long howl, trotting to the cliff's edge. It plunged downward, its black wings skimming the sea before surging upward into the sky.

Roar!

From the high walls of Twin Castle, Tessarion emerged, his cobalt blue body gleaming like a jewel. For a sub-adult dragon, it had nearly reached full size. In two more years, it would be fully grown.

...

The Smoking Sea.

Under the blistering sun, the heat was so intense that it created layers of gray mist, distorting the air as far as the eye could see. The darkness was so oppressive that you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, only the thick fog and the choking stench of death. No one in their right mind would venture near this place. Those who dared would find the fog revealing the devil's hand, its terrifying wail striking fear deep into their hearts.

"Roar..."

A thunderous dragon roar pierced the silence as a scarlet rift tore open the sky.

"Roar!"

Caraxes’ pupils gleamed with a ferocious light as its serpentine body broke through the fog, surging out of the Smoking Sea. But the danger was far from over. Clinging to its massive, scarlet-scaled body were hordes of gray-skinned creatures, their scaly forms packed tightly like ants.

"Dracarys, Caraxes!" Daemon’s eyes turned blood-red, his body exuding a murderous aura.

"Roar!"

Caraxes lifted its head and unleashed a torrent of scarlet dragonfire into the sea. The flames exploded into a towering mushroom cloud, crashing down into the waters. The sound of burning flesh crackled in the air as the creatures, now aflame, burst apart and plunged into the sea like dumplings. The dragon glanced back, only to see its rider besieged.

Several of the creatures had huddled beneath the dragon’s wings, avoiding the direct blast of dragonfire. They now swarmed the blood-soaked figure in the saddle like living corpses.

"Bastards!"

A flash of malice crossed Daemon’s eyes as he stood, unsheathing his sword and swinging it in a deadly arc.

Pili-pulu...

Several grotesque heads toppled from their bodies, and the headless corpses tumbled down, crashing into the seabed.

"Roar!"

With Daemon regaining his balance, Caraxes suddenly surged forward, shaking violently like a writhing snake. In an instant, the remaining stone men were flung off, scattering into the sea.

Daemon coldly surveyed the scene, ripping off his tattered crimson cloak and quickly inspecting himself. His once-mighty black steel armor was riddled with gashes, soaked in blood, and half of his entrails hung from his shoulder. His silver hair, now singed and curled, fell across his face like the gnawed remnants of a battle.

"Go, Caraxes!"

Daemon's voice was deep and resolute as he cast one last look back at the thick, mist-shrouded Smoking Sea. The danger here needed no further words.

As the long, thin dragon tail vanished into the clouds, a deep, jagged cut was revealed on Caraxes’ lower abdomen, and scalding dragon blood dripped down.

Zilala...

The seawater hissed and steamed as it turned red from the blood. The dragon and its rider disappeared into the distance.

Yet, the ten large ships that had accompanied them were nowhere to be seen, lost along with their sailors in the treacherous Smoking Sea.

...

Night fell over Sothoryos, casting a heavy shadow on the Basilisk Isles.

“Asshole, pull your pants up!”

“Fuck off, I’m not done yet...”

"...."

The town reeked of filth, with wooden stakes forming a rough circle around the squalor. The air was thick with the stench of urine and excrement. Scantily clad prostitutes laughed and flirted with the leathers and slave traders, their shrill voices piercing the night. One of the traders stumbled, nearly lifting off the ground as he lost his balance.

In a shadowy corner, two figures in black robes moved quickly, their faces hidden.

"No news from Sowtown," Rhaegar said as he walked, indifferent to the chaos around him.

Sothoryos was far from uninhabited. The Basilisk Isles were littered with towns that had been built, destroyed, and rebuilt countless times. These settlements were filled with mud and blood, teeming with runaway slaves, prostitutes, and smugglers. Once, slavers from Slaver's Bay would come here to buy human cargo before that trade fell apart.

Daeron, walking beside his brother, glanced uneasily at the men and women copulating by the fire. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 'How can they be so comfortable in the mud?' he wondered.

"Hurry up, don’t dawdle," Rhaegar ordered, his gaze flicking over the scene with disdain.

Sowtown was no place for nobility, and it cared little for titles like king or prince. Rhaegar had come to seek information from a forest witch, but the old, ugly, and blind woman had the nose of a hound. The moment she saw him, she began barking and scurried under a table. The visit had been a waste of time.

Soon, they arrived at the ramshackle wooden gate of Sowtown.

“Hey, who are you?” one of the guards slurred, his breath heavy with alcohol. The other guard, steadier on his feet, pointed at the brothers and shouted.

“Leather buyers, my friend,” Rhaegar replied, lowering his head to hide his silver hair beneath his hood.

The guard’s eyes gleamed with greed, eager to extort a bribe. Rhaegar moved slowly at first, then with a sudden burst of speed, he snapped the man's neck with a swift motion.

The guard froze, his expression blank as he suddenly found himself staring at the ground. Then, he collapsed, unconscious.

“Go!” Rhaegar commanded, kicking open the wooden gate with a powerful strike.

Daeron swallowed hard and hurried after him. "Where are we going?" he asked, anxiety creeping into his voice. The night was dark, and the wilderness was no place to linger.

“Green Hell,” Rhaegar replied, his voice deep as he quickened his pace, entering the dense forest outside the town.

"Roar..."

The tall grass rustled violently, and a dark mound rose, transforming into the thick neck of a dragon. Cannibal’s pupils dilated, glowing with a green light as it stared southward, toward the distant end of Sothoryos.

Without hesitation, Rhaegar climbed onto the dragon’s back. Daeron, trailing behind, found Tessarion sleeping soundly in a corner, oblivious to the commotion.

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