After leaving Westeros under countless watchful eyes, Aedric didn't steer the Serenity straight toward the Free Cities of Essos.
Instead, he followed the route detailed in an old sea journal. Half a month later, he arrived at the waters surrounding the ruins of the once-glorious Valyrian Freehold.
He had no intention of setting foot on the island itself—its mountains still belched fire, its land still flowed with molten rock.
Even one born with "dragon's blood" and the so-called Unburnt title would be courting death by setting foot there now.
His goal was simply to observe this legendary fallen empire, to see if it might be a more suitable place for cultivation.
And indeed—it was.
Even though he was still over a hundred miles from the burning island, Aedric could already sense the density of void energy in the air.
It was far thicker here than anywhere else he had been.
No wonder Valyria had once dominated the world—it was a true natural paradise of power.
Now, with the immense wealth looted by Euron Greyjoy and this energy-rich training ground at hand, Aedric finally had everything a cultivator could desire: companions, method, resources, and place.
So he and Arya remained on a nearby island for three full months of intense cultivation, leaving only when their food supplies began to run low.
Over those months, Arya advanced rapidly—her Postnatal Inner Core Technique reached the third layer, and her Jade Maiden Pureheart Sword Art had entered true mastery.
But Aedric's gains were far greater.
His own Postnatal Inner Core Technique reached the sixth layer, and the dragonfire energy he had once drawn from the egg had now fused completely with his inner core.
He could freely convert his qi into dragonfire at will.
The only regret was that the dragon egg still showed no sign of hatching.
If it could have been born before his eventual battle with the Night King, it would have been an enormous advantage—a true dragon companion.
But for now, fate would decide.
Leaving the fiery Valyrian Peninsula, the Serenity drifted for seven days before reaching the fabled port city of Qarth, the shining jewel of Essos.
Aedric wanted to see the legendary House of the Undying, said to contain mysterious powers.
And then—he got into trouble.
Because Euron Greyjoy had once raided this very city, the people of Qarth recognized the Serenity instantly.
Before Aedric's ship even reached the docks, more than a hundred warriors rushed out to meet them.
They wore mismatched armor from every corner of the world; among them stood a dozen cold-faced Unsullied, their spears at the ready.
"Vile pirates!" one shouted. "Leave this city at once!"
Aedric could only give a helpless, slightly embarrassed smile.
He cursed himself silently—of course Qarth would remember Euron's notorious ship.
"I really should've seen that coming," he sighed. "Should've sold this cursed vessel earlier."
Indeed, his plan now was to dock, sell the Serenity, and buy a new ship.
After all, sailing the seas in Euron's old flagship was basically asking for trouble.
But before he could act, Arya—ever the fiery young wolf—was already drawing her blades, eager for a fight.
"Jon! Let's teach these guys a lesson!" she cried, sliding the dragonglass dagger back into her belt and unsheathing her twin swords, Frost and Moon, with a crisp metallic shing!
"I've been training for months—it's time to test my skills!"
Aedric only shook his head, refusing to indulge her bloodlust.
Instead, he stepped forward, gathering his qi, and called out in a thunderous voice:
"My name is Jon Snow, from the Stark family of the North in Westeros!
The ship's former master, Euron Greyjoy, has been slain by my hand!
We come not to raid your city—please, do not misunderstand!"
His voice rolled across the sea like thunder, shaking the great bells of Qarth into ringing.
Every soul in the city heard that divine-like proclamation.
Many stood frozen in shock—some even fell to their knees, praying instinctively, convinced a god had spoken.
Qarth, being a major hub of trade and gossip, had long heard the tales of the "Storm Sword Saint."
So when faced with this awe-inspiring display, most warriors turned pale.
Only the Unsullied remained motionless, their faces cold as ever.
After some anxious murmuring, one of the local leaders stepped forward and shouted, voice trembling:
"Y-You claim to be the Storm Sword Saint, Jon Snow! How can we know that's true?"
Aedric didn't bother answering.
Instead, his figure blurred—and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from the deck.
He touched the water lightly with his foot, gliding effortlessly across dozens of meters, and landed gently before the speaker.
He smiled, shrugged.
"I'm not sure how to prove it," he said lightly. "Perhaps you could give me a suggestion?"
The man's jaw hung open.
A moment ago, this stranger had been far out to sea—and now he stood before him as if the air itself had carried him.
A miracle made flesh.
There was no longer any doubt.
Still, duty was duty.
The trembling warrior swallowed hard and said, "S-Sword Saint… I was ordered not to allow your ship to dock.
Would you be willing to wait a short while while I report to the city lords?"
Since this whole misunderstanding was harmless enough, Aedric didn't mind humoring them.
He nodded amiably and took a seat nearby, ignoring the mix of awe, respect, and icy glares from the assembled guards.
Meanwhile, Arya pouted, clearly disappointed that there would be no fight after all.
She took a small boat ashore, grumbling to Aedric the whole way.
"All that training, and not even one decent battle… Maybe we should just act like pirates, just this once!"
Aedric could only chuckle.
"Truly a wolf's cub," he thought. "Already baring her fangs and hungry for her first kill."
As he soothed the restless girl, he let his gaze wander across the city.
In the original books, Qarth was the greatest port in the world—three concentric walls, and ruled by a dozen factions:
the Thirteen, the Pureborn, and the Guild of Spicers, among others.
But the television version had simplified everything—just one wall, and only the Thirteen remained as rulers.
Still, one thing hadn't changed— the House of the Undying still stood within, and the strange, dark magic within it was real.
It was that very place, after all, that had nearly ended Daenerys Targaryen's journey—
though for someone like her, "nearly" was just another Tuesday.
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