The Sea Serpent cut a steady path through the churning grey waters of the Narrow Sea. Days had blurred into a monotonous rhythm of creaking timbers, salty spray, and the distant cries of gulls. Maegor spent his time divided between the cramped confines of his cabin, where he nurtured Balerion, and the deck, observing his growing company. Ryker, Gor, Kael, Torr, and Lyra, now bound by an unwavering loyalty, settled into the ship's routine with disciplined ease. Kaeto, Ser Kaeto Targaryen, was proving an invaluable asset, his knowledge of ships and the sea bolstering Jorah's command.
Captain Jorah, however, remained an enigma. He was a seasoned sailor, no doubt, but his eyes held a constant wariness, a flicker of suspicion that Maegor had yet to completely dispel. Jorah ran his ship efficiently, but he kept his distance from Maegor, respecting the coin more than the quiet, black-haired merchant who paid it. The crew, too, mirrored their captain's reserved demeanor, focused on their duties, asking no questions.
It was late in the afternoon when the first cry came from the crow's nest. "Sail to port! No… no, not a sail! A beast!"
Captain Jorah, who had been studying the horizon, snapped his head around. "What in the Seven Hells are you blathering about, lad? What kind of beast?"
Before the lookout could answer, a shadow, impossibly dark, passed over the deck. A collective gasp rose from the crew. Jorah looked up, his face draining of color. Flying low over the waves, keeping pace with the Sea Serpent, was a creature of nightmare and legend. It was Balerion, his scales the color of obsidian, his newly hardened wings beating with powerful, rhythmic strokes. He was small, no bigger than an eagle yet, but undeniably a dragon, a living, breathing myth.
Fear, raw and primal, flashed across Captain Jorah's face. He stumbled back, bumping into the mast. "By the gods… a dragon! It's real! What in the seven hells is going on?"
The crew huddled together, eyes wide, some openly terrified, others staring in stunned disbelief. This was no common merchant voyage. This was something out of old tales, something that heralded either doom or unimaginable glory.
At that moment, Maegor emerged from his cabin. He had sensed Balerion's departure from his chest pouch, the instinctual pull between them growing stronger each day. He stepped onto the deck, letting the sea wind whip his hair. He didn't bother with the dye anymore; it had served its purpose. The silver-white strands shone like moonlight against the grey sky. His purple eyes, ancient and piercing, fixed on Jorah, then swept across the terrified faces of the crew.
Captain Jorah, seeing the impossible hair, the legendary eyes, choked out a single word. "Targaryen?"
Maegor nodded, his gaze unwavering. He reached a hand up, and with a soft shriek, Balerion landed gently on his shoulder, nudging his face with its scaled snout. "Aye, Captain," Maegor's voice boomed, resonating with a power that cut through the wind and the fear, Draconic Persuasion at its peak. "I am Maegor Targaryen, son of Maester Aemon of the Night's Watch. And this is Balerion, a true dragon of our House. I am journeying to Essos, to gather my family and to raise an army to reclaim what was stolen. The Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms. It is a long journey, fraught with peril. But the rewards for loyalty will be beyond your wildest dreams."
Jorah stared, his terror slowly giving way to a dawning, terrifying understanding. He looked from Maegor's face to the tiny dragon perched on his shoulder, then to his own men, their eyes fixed on the silver-haired stranger. This wasn't a choice; it was fate. He slowly dropped to one knee, his gaze fixed on the deck. "My lord," he rasped, his voice raw, "I pledge my ship, my life, and my loyalty to House Targaryen. To fire and blood."
One by one, the crew followed their captain's lead. They were simple men, often exploited, always desperate. To serve a living legend, a true dragon, was a chance at something more than a hard life and a forgotten grave. "We pledge our loyalty, my lord!" they chanted, their voices hoarse with awe and a burgeoning hope.
[ System Update: Subordinates Acquired! ]
[ Host has acquired new loyal subordinates! ]
Reward Granted:
System Rank: Minor Noble (Local Influence)
Maegor felt a subtle rush of power as the System updated, his influence expanding, his resources growing. He was no longer just a hidden claimant; he was a Petty Lord, now a Minor Noble, building his foundation, piece by piece.
With the ship and its crew secured, the time had finally come. Maegor retreated to his cabin, Balerion following, chirping softly. He closed the door, blocking out the creaks and groans of the ship. Alone, he focused on the System interface. The "Game of Chance" icon pulsed, its single card shimmering.
"Let's see what fate has for me," Maegor thought, the ancient Maegor's curiosity stirring within him. He touched the card. It spun, then flipped over, revealing an image.
[ Game of Chance Result: Uncommon Item Acquired! ]
Reward: The Serpent's Sting (Spear - Uncommon)
Description: A finely crafted spear of Valyrian steel. Unusually light and perfectly balanced, its head gleams with the distinctive rippled pattern. Imbued with a subtle venom that paralyses on contact. A weapon favored by the shadow assassins of Essos.
Maegor stared at the description, a cold smile touching his lips. A Valyrian steel spear, and one with a venomous touch. Uncommon, but incredibly potent. It was a weapon fit for a king, or at least, for a king's hand. He felt a sharp, heavy object materialize in his hand, cold and smooth to the touch, its balance perfect. This was not a weapon Mormont had taught him, but one the ancient Maegor would have appreciated.
The System then flashed with a new mission.
[ New Quest: ]
Objective: Reach Braavos
Successfully navigate the Narrow Sea to Braavos.Secure safe passage into the city without drawing undue attention from the Sealord's Guard.
Reward:
Ability Upgrade: Valyrian Insight (Tier 2)Uncommon Resource Pack (Braavos Specific)
Braavos. The greatest of the Free Cities, home to the Iron Bank and the Faceless Men. A city of secrets and strict laws, where dragons were not tolerated. Navigating its labyrinthine canals and avoiding the scrutiny of the formidable Sealord's Guard would be a challenge. But with his new spear and his growing loyal company, Maegor was ready