The gentle creaking of the old floorboards beneath me was the only sound echoing in the empty Red Door house, apart from the occasional whimper of a sleeping child. My eyes fluttered open once again, and the dull ache on the side of my head had vanished, the wound mended cleanly as if it had never been. The light filtering in through the torn curtain fell softly on the curled form of Daenerys, fast asleep beside me. Her golden-silver hair shimmered like moonlight, and her face—so small, so innocent—was stained with dried tears and smudges of dust. My heart clenched.
She stirred as I sat up, eyes fluttering open slowly. Then, the moment her gaze met mine, it was as if the sun had risen. "Viserys!" she cried out, scrambling over and hugging me with all her tiny strength.
"I'm alright, little one," I said, smiling down at her. "The pain's gone."
Her eyes welled up again, and she sniffled. "I thought you wouldn't wake up."
"I always come back," I whispered, running a hand gently through her hair. In truth, I was still adjusting. Though I carried Viserys's face and now his body, I wasn't him. Not anymore. I was a soul displaced from another world—reborn, gifted powers beyond mortal men. But what mattered now was survival. Protection. Power. Daenerys was all I had in this world. And I would never allow harm to come to her again.
After soothing her, I moved to the small hearth and conjured firewood using the Forest-Forest Fruit. I set it alight and cooked the remnants of stale bread and dried fish we'd hidden from the fleeing servants. Dany ate hungrily, her spirit somewhat brighter with each bite. I watched her, all the while my mind ticking with urgency.
We couldn't stay here.
Braavos was no place for vulnerable children. Especially not ones with Valyrian blood and royal claims. The death of Willem Darry had set off a chain reaction. The remaining servants, those who were paid to be loyal, had revealed their true nature and fled with what little wealth we had. I had inherited the memories of the boy-king, and they came in painful flashes—Willem's fevered groans, the loyal hand that fed us, fading in strength, and finally, cold and still in his bed.
Then came betrayal.
Servants once trusted tried to rob the place. I—Viserys—tried to stop them. A strike to the head, then blackness.
And then I arrived.
The Red Door house was no longer safe. I didn't need my powers to know that. I'd caught glimpses of men outside, watchers perhaps—some thieves, others informants. Varys's little birds might have begun whispering again. We had no protection, no allies. I could fight—but the point wasn't merely surviving.
It was changing our destiny.
"Daenerys," I said softly after she finished eating, "how would you like to see the sea again?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Are we going somewhere?"
"Yes. Somewhere safer. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere better."
I made the decision not just because of danger but strategy. Lys was known for its beauty and commerce. A Free City like Braavos, but far less harsh. It was also a land of pleasure houses, trade, and magic. A place where people came and went, where gold flowed, and questions were less important than coin.
A perfect place to hide, grow strong, and rebuild.
But I had to plan it all perfectly. I couldn't risk being seen using my powers openly. I needed to ensure our departure was unseen and untraceable.
I spent the rest of the day preparing. With a firm hand and vision, I commanded the roots of the Forest Fruit to unearth a few scattered copper cups, rusty blades, and junk left behind by the fleeing servants. One by one, I touched them and transformed them into solid gold. Not too much—just enough to pay for passage and secure our departure.
Daenerys, ever quiet and obedient, followed my instructions as we packed what little we had. Some old clothes. A few toys. Blankets and preserved food. I tied them in a bundle, reinforcing the cloth with plant fibers to make a crude but sturdy satchel.
We left that night.
Slipping through the shadowed alleys of Braavos, I kept my hand ready. My eyes, trained by the Transparent World, could sense the movements of guards and drunkards before we turned a corner. The darkness was my ally.
I had spent the last day inquiring discretely about ships headed for Lys. The harbormaster's assistant—a greedy, bored man—had been more than willing to suggest a small trading vessel departing before dawn in exchange for a single gold coin. I made sure no one saw my face. I told him I was a noble's messenger, that the two of us were runaways from Tyrosh. Lies built upon lies.
When we finally reached the pier, the mist was thick and the air damp. Daenerys held my hand tightly. Her eyes, full of fear and wonder, searched the endless sea.
"It's huge," she whispered.
"It is," I replied. "And it's going to carry us to a new beginning."
The captain of the vessel, a gruff woman named Hela of the Basilisk Isles, accepted our payment without question. "You keep your heads down. I don't like trouble," she said.
"Neither do I," I replied smoothly, handing her another small gold token. "And this will ensure you forget our faces."
Her grin widened. "I already have."
We boarded and settled into a cramped storage room beneath the deck. It smelled of salt, wood, and damp hemp. Not ideal, but safer than the streets. As the sails were unfurled and the ship groaned against the tide, I held Daenerys close.
She was fast asleep again, curled beside me. The rhythm of the sea had a soothing, almost magical touch.
For the first time in days, I allowed myself to exhale deeply. The ache in my head was gone. The pulse of strength in my limbs reminded me of the gifts I now possessed. Super Soldier Serum. Gold-Gold Fruit. Forest powers. Yorichi's swordsmanship and vision. And most precious of all—the Blood Magic of old Valyria.
I clenched my hand, feeling the strength ripple through me.
And it began now.
In the stillness of the sea, with Braavos fading into the mist, I stared at the horizon.
Lys awaited.