Chapter 30: The Hidden Veil of Ulthos – Discovery of the Fifth Continent
King's Landing, 310 AC – 325 AC (Fast-Forward Montage)
With Sothoryos fully mapped and claimed—its fertile valleys feeding millions, gold mines stacking Dragon Bank vaults, iron and copper fueling endless forges, uranium powering glowing experiments, rubber sealing the empire's machines, and wyverns soaring alongside dragons as auxiliary mounts—Aenys III Targaryen turned his gaze farther east. The known world's edges had been pushed to their limit, yet maps still showed blanks beyond the Saffron Straits. Asshai's shadows now knelt, but beyond them lay Ulthos—a landmass whispered of in shadowbinder tomes and Summer Islander charts as the "farthest veil," a continent (or vast island) shrouded in myth, dense jungle, and deliberate ambiguity. George R.R. Martin's world had left it unexplored to underscore Westerosi ignorance; Aenys III—reborn Elias, eternal conqueror—would not tolerate such ignorance.
In 311 AC, he decreed the Eastern Unveiling.
"The dragon's eye sees all," he proclaimed from the High Tower, voice amplified by Academy loudspeakers across the city. "Ulthos remains hidden. No longer. We claim the last veil—every jungle, every river, every secret beneath its canopy."
The fleet assembled was the mightiest yet: sixty ironclads—oil-fired, cannon-bristling behemoths—sailed from Blackwater Bay, joined by thirty dragonriders led by Prince Viserys on Stormrend II and Princess Rhaenyra on Crimsonstorm. Ten thousand Bloody Dragons—veterans of the Second Crusade—embarked with steam rifles, chain saws, and cement powder. Academy scholars carried surveying tools, microscopes, and sealed crates of quinine and Codex volumes. Wyvern riders from the Wyvern Protectorate joined as scouts—smaller, venomous mounts ideal for jungle reconnaissance.
They sailed east through the Saffron Straits—waters thick with mist and strange currents—past Ulos island's jagged rocks. Asshai's black stone faded behind; the Shadow Lands' gloom lifted into humid green. Ulthos loomed: a vast landmass, its western coast a wall of jungle so dense sunlight barely pierced. No cities visible from sea; no smoke of forges or fields of grain. Only endless canopy, broken by mist-shrouded mountains and rivers carving silver scars.
Exploration began in 312 AC.
Ironclads anchored in sheltered bays; longboats ferried explorers ashore. Steam chain saws carved paths through vines thicker than a man's thigh; dragons burned clearings for camps. The land revealed itself gradually—and richly.
Fertile soil—blacker and deeper than Sothoryos's—yielded to first test plots: Reach wheat sprouting in weeks, Sothoryos spices thriving alongside unknown fruits heavy with juice. Gold rivers glittered with nuggets; copper veins surfaced in red cliffs; iron deposits—hematite and magnetite—stretched leagues. Uranium traces glowed in mountain caves—stronger than Wyveria's, enough to power forges that burned without fuel. Rubber trees bled sap in endless flow; new woods—harder than ironwood, lighter than pine—promised ship hulls and rail ties.
Settlement followed discovery.
Rail spurs—portable iron—extended from coastal ports; steam locomotives hauled settlers south. Commons answered the call: families from crowded Reach villages, Northmen seeking warmer fields, Dornish herders tired of sand. Homesteads rose—cement blockhouses with oil lamps, villages named for church martyrs. Dragon Church chapters sprang up—elders preaching the Codex while distributing land grants. Smallfolk tilled black soil, mined gold and copper, tapped rubber, prospected uranium under dragon guard.
But Ulthos was not empty.
In 318 AC, deep in the southeastern interior—beyond mist-choked plateaus where rivers turned golden with mineral silt—the vanguard discovered the Kingdom of Wyverhold.
Scouts on Crimsonstorm spotted it first: a vast city carved into a sheer cliff face of black basalt, towers spiraling upward like petrified flames. Below stretched fertile valleys—terraced fields of golden grain, orchards heavy with fruit, herds of scaled beasts grazing under guard. Wyverns—smaller than dragons, venom-tailed—roosted on ledges in thousands, riders controlling them with sinew reins. The kingdom's army—forty thousand strong—marched with wyvern support: spearmen in bronze plate, archers on venomous platforms, war beasts trained to sting through steel.
Aenys III received the report and smiled. "Another wyvern realm. They will kneel—or join the flame."
First contact came in 319 AC.
Prince Viserys landed Stormrend II on a plateau two leagues from the city—alone, unarmed but for his sword. Wyverns hissed; riders gathered. A queen emerged from the cliff palace—tall, regal, skin bronzed, hair black as night, eyes green as venom. She rode a massive obsidian wyvern, its stinger gleaming.
"You are the dragon-lords from the west," she said in accented Common—learned from captured traders. "We are Wyverhold—masters of the Scaled Winds since before your dragons flew. Speak your purpose."
Viserys met her gaze. "I am Prince Viserys Targaryen, son of King Aenys III, God-King of the Seven Kingdoms, High Priest of the Dragon Church, Conqueror of Sothoryos. My father claims Ulthos—its gold, iron, copper, uranium, rubber, fertile soil—all of it. Kneel to the dragon, and share your strength. Refuse, and we test wyvern against true dragon."
The queen laughed—sharp, defiant. "We knelt to no shadowbinder, no Yi Ti warlord, no Asshai mage. Why should we kneel to you?"
Viserys signaled. Ironclads advanced along the river—cannons primed. Dragons joined Stormrend II—twenty beasts circling. Wyverns hissed; war drums thundered.
The queen studied the sky. "Bring terms," she said. "We parley. But wyverns do not bend easily."
Terms were iron: unconditional surrender, wyverns conscripted, mines and fertile lands annexed, church chapters established. The queen refused.
War came in 320 AC.
The Battle of the Venom Cliffs shattered Wyverhold.
Wyverns dove in swarms—venom stings glancing off evolved dragon scales. True dragons answered: Stormrend II's black flames washing flocks, Crimsonstorm's silver fire burning platforms. Ironclads shelled cliffs—explosive rounds shattering stone. Bloody Dragons stormed ashore—rifles cracking, chain saws carving paths.
The queen's obsidian wyvern charged Viserys; Stormrend II met it—claws raking, flames clashing venom. The wyvern died screaming; the queen fell to rocks below.
The city surrendered.
Wyverhold became a protectorate—queen's heir ruling under Targaryen oversight. Wyverns integrated—venomous scouts for dragon wings. Gold mines pumped wealth; iron and copper fed forges; uranium enriched experiments; rubber expanded; fertile valleys fed millions.
By 325 AC, Ulthos was fully discovered—and claimed.
Rail lines reached eastern coasts; cement cities rose in valleys; church chapters preached in wyvern-shadowed halls. Resources flowed endless: gold stacking vaults, iron arming legions, copper wiring factories, uranium powering forges, rubber sealing machines, fertile soil feeding empires.
Aenys III stood atop Wyverhold's cliff palace, watching wyverns and dragons fly together. The system pinged: [Continental Dominion: Ulthos 100%. Resource Extraction: +500%. Dragon-Wyvern-Venom Synergy: Unlocked.]
Ulthos was no longer hidden.
It was the dragon's final hoard—gold, iron, copper, uranium, rubber, fertile heart, scaled wings—all eternal.
The line endured.
The flame conquered all.
(Word count: 1998)