The sea stretched endless beneath a moonless sky.
Waves rolled dark and heavy, slapping against the black hull of the Targaryen longship as it cut through the water with unnatural silence. The summoned rowers moved in perfect rhythm—eyeless and tireless, their glistening skin reflecting the faint lantern glow that swayed from the prow.
A chime whispered in Viserys's skull.
[System Map Unlocked]
Locations Discovered: Qohor, Pentos, Lys, Braavos, Volantis
Suggestion: Strategic Repositioning Recommended
Safe Zones: None
Enemy Activity: High (Dothraki pursuit), Moderate (Magisters of Pentos)
He swept his hand through the spectral map hovering before him, its contours glowing in molten gold. He marked Volantis with a single tap.
Waypoint Set: Volantis
Estimated Time to Arrival: 1 week (Calm Seas)
Resources Consumption: Minimal – System-enhanced vessel
He closed the interface with a breath and turned toward the others standing mid-deck. Daenerys leaned against the railing, hair silvered by moonlight. Illyrio sat on a crate, exhausted, his silk robes wrinkled and rain-stained. Ser Jorah stood nearby, ever vigilant.
Viserys's voice was clear, decisive.
"We're not going to Pentos."
Illyrio looked up, confused. "Not going back? But my holdings—"
"Will likely be under scrutiny or siege," Viserys cut in. "You hosted the dragon's rebirth. The other Magisters won't let that stand. They fear what I represent."
Jorah frowned. "Where then?"
"Volantis." He pointed across the deck, even as the sea swallowed the gesture. "Oldest of the Free Cities. Massive, decadent, divided. Full of temples, secrets, and power plays. I can disappear there. Or become something greater."
Illyrio's brow creased. "The city is dangerous. Black walls, red priests, merchant dynasties who'd slit your throat for a rumor."
"Good," Viserys said. "It means the pieces are already on the board."
Jorah hesitated. "And the Dothraki?"
"They won't cross the sea," Viserys answered. "Not willingly. The water is their grave."
He nodded toward the interior of the ship. "Go. Rest. Both of you. We've got time before we make landfall, and I need my allies unbroken."
Illyrio didn't argue. With a grunt, he vanished below deck.
Jorah lingered. His eyes flicked from Viserys to Daenerys, then gave a slow nod before descending into the ship's belly.
Only Daenerys remained.
She stood quietly at the railing, clutching a rectangular box bound in pale silk.
Viserys noticed it with a sharp inhale.
He stepped closer.
"You kept them."
Daenerys looked down at the box in her arms, unsure. "I… didn't know what to do. But I couldn't leave them."
Viserys reached out and gently touched the corner of the silk wrapping. It shifted slightly, revealing the carved wood beneath. The sigils burned into its surface were unmistakable—Valyrian glyphs of fire and rebirth.
Inside: the three petrified dragon eggs.
Red, green, and black.
Priceless. Legendary. Forgotten by history… but not by her.
He smiled. Not coldly, not arrogantly.
Softly.
"I almost forgot about them."
"You didn't say to bring them," she replied.
"You didn't need to," he said.
Item Detected: Dragon Eggs (Valyrian Origin)
Artifact Tier: Mythical
Activation: Unknown
Bonded Status: Dormant
Additional Action Required: Unlocked via Questline – [Heir of Flame]
Viserys's fingers trembled for a brief moment.
Dragons.
His mind raced. He'd been so focused on raw survival, system mechanics, and asserting dominance, he'd forgotten the core of House Targaryen's legacy.
Not power. Not cruelty.
Fire.
"Keep them close," he said. "But don't show them to anyone. Ever."
Daenerys nodded. "I understand."
She turned and walked quietly below deck.
Viserys watched her go, then turned to the captain's cabin door at the far end of the ship. The lanterns swayed as the sea sighed around him.
He entered.
⸻
The captain's cabin was dark and simple, but functional—polished mahogany desk, a warped sea map nailed to the wall, and a cot in the corner that might as well have been stone.
He stood in the center.
"System," he whispered. "Summon: Blackfyre."
The air thickened.
A soft hum began to build—deep, reverberating, like a forge lit in the hollow of the world. Crimson light split the darkness, veins of it cracking through reality like shattered glass.
Then—
It appeared.
A sword unlike any other.
Longer than a longsword, broader than a bastard sword. Black as coal but edged in ghostly silver. The hilt was wrapped in crimson leather, the pommel a three-headed dragon snarling in frozen fury.
Blackfyre. The ancestral sword of House Targaryen.
Forged of Valyrian steel.
Once wielded by kings.
Now wielded by him.
He reached for it, slowly. As his fingers closed around the hilt, the air snapped like lightning had kissed it.
[Legendary Weapon Acquired: Blackfyre]
+40 to Melee Combat
+20 Charisma (Targaryen blood recognition effect)
Passive Ability: Dragon's Presence – Aura of command against weak-willed targets
Locked Synergy: True Heir – Requires Greater Dragon Bond
He lifted the blade.
It wasn't just a sword—it was a throne waiting to be claimed. It whispered to him in ancient tones. Songs of fire and conquest. Screams from Blackwater Rush, from Summerhall, from fields soaked in dragonflame.
Viserys turned slowly, letting the weight settle into his arm. It wasn't heavy.
It was right.
He sat at the captain's desk, laying the sword beside him like a sleeping beast. His fingers tapped once against the polished surface.
And the thoughts came.
"I need to get stronger."
"The Dothraki will regroup. There are others who'll come for me. Assassins. Spies. Varys. Littlefinger. Tywin. Every schemer in the Realm."
"I have a sword, a ship, and a legend forming in whispers. But I need an army."
"And I need to not die like the fool I was born as."
He opened the system again.
Skill Trees. Locked branches. Mystic. Commander. Dragon-Blooded.
He chose one.
Unlock Path: Commander of Men
Cost: 5,000 DP
New Skill: Tactical Insight – +20% combat efficiency for troops under direct command
New Passive: Iron Order – Reduces fear and desertion in all followers
DP Remaining: 19,823
He didn't hesitate.
"Unlock."
Power surged.
He clenched his fist as it rushed through him. Battle formations lit up in his mind—how to flank, how to break morale, how to inspire. He saw war now the way a painter sees color.
And yet…
He wasn't ready. Not yet.
He needed more.
He needed to become a king worth following.
A knock at the cabin door broke the silence.
It opened a crack, and Daenerys's voice came through, tentative.
"Viserys… are you alright?"
He turned to the blade, then to the map.
And smiled.
"I'm not alright, sister," he said. "I'm becoming."
⸻
Out on the deck, the sea stretched black and endless toward Volantis.
But aboard the ship?
A new kind of storm was stirring.
Not wind. Not water.
Fire.