Darkseid was set to depart for Sunspear in Dorne. He had frequently traveled between the two places on dragonback, but now he would be gone for two full years without returning to Tyrosh. Lyonel, Geralt, Sauron, Lilith, and Baemon gathered in the castle plaza to see him off.
Wright's children had never been apart from each other since birth, and now they were all giving Darkseid their most treasured possessions. Lilith, in particular, was crying uncontrollably.
"He can't return to Tyrosh, but no one said we can't visit him in Sunspear," Lyonel kept trying to reassure her.
"Really?" Lilith paused her sobbing, her tear-streaked face filled with hope as she looked up at her older brother.
"I think so!" Lyonel wasn't entirely sure. Wright hadn't mentioned it, and there was always the chance Nymeria might issue a new command.
Geralt walked up to Darkseid and secretly pulled a rolled-up book from his coat, slipping it into his hand. "This is my most treasured picture book. Just don't let your foster father catch you with it."
Darkseid unrolled it slightly and glanced at the cover. Upon seeing a naked blonde woman, he quickly stuffed it into his clothes. "I get it. Even if they find it, I won't say it was from you."
He wasn't quite at the age to be interested in such things, but studying magic required understanding human anatomy.
"Good man!" Geralt grinned, grabbing Darkseid's arm. "I'll be heading out for my own travels too. Who knows when we'll meet again?"
"Where are you going? Volantis?" Darkseid asked.
"The North. I want to see that so-called father of mine first." Geralt patted the black and white swords strapped to his back.
Robb had also set out on his travels at the age of thirteen, alongside Ashara and Jon. Geralt, now thirteen himself, was already nearly as tall as an adult, though he was still on the slender side. After hearing Ashara recount their past exploits, he was filled with a burning desire to go out and prove himself.
He had little respect for Robb Stark, viewing him as a wasted talent—a man with great strength who squandered it by hiding away in the North. Geralt often declared that he would go teach a lesson to the man who had abandoned his mother.
"You better not do anything reckless! Arianne once mentioned that House Stark doesn't even know Robb has a son. If you provoke him and he really decides to fight, he won't hold back."
Prince Lyonel had read some of the Red Keep's reports on the North and knew it wasn't as weak as the rumors suggested. Robb Stark was no stranger to killing.
"Relax. I'm not stupid enough to let him cut me down. I just want to disgust him a little," Geralt smirked, pushing his short white hair back. His yellow pupils suddenly narrowed into vertical slits.
In his mind, he compared himself to Robb: his adoptive father, Wright, had trained him in both magic and combat, just like Robb had once been trained. On top of that, he had survived the Trial of the Grasses, mastered Tyene's alchemy, and learned martial arts from Ashara. Surely, he could beat Robb in a fight… right?
"Brother, you better protect our secret base in Sunspear!" Sauron said, holding onto Quaithe's hand as he turned to Darkseid.
Wright had often told them stories about his childhood fights with their mothers in the gardens of Sunspear. They admired the tale of how he had fought against four opponents and emerged victorious despite being outnumbered.
After learning magic, they had secretly dug out a small underground chamber beneath a fountain in Sunspear's gardens. The entrance was hidden under a stone slab, and inside, they kept their most prized toys. They still believed Wright had never discovered it.
"I won't just protect it—I'll expand it!" Darkseid had already planned ahead. During his two years in Sunspear, he wouldn't only study books; his magical experiments would continue. Proper experiments would be conducted in the study, while the more dangerous ones would be carried out in their secret base.
"This is from Lord Wright," Quaithe said, handing Darkseid a finely bound book on magic.
Darkseid took it and read the large title on the cover: Free Magic? "Isn't this an unfinished theoretical study?"
Quaithe nodded. "Lord Wright knows you're intelligent and have read most magic books already. He personally bound this one yesterday and told me to give it to you. It contains only the theories that have been successfully proven."
"Thank you," Darkseid said, expressing his gratitude to Quaithe—and to his father, Wright, who hadn't come to see him off.
Baemon beamed. "Brother, we'll come visit you often!"
"Haha, you should spend more time getting used to your golden dragon. Every time we go on long flights, we always have to stop and wait for you." Darkseid ruffled his younger brother's silky hair before taking a deep breath and shouting into the sky:
"Kl~~Ogra~~Vuun~~!"
It was a Dragon Shout to summon his dragon. The people of Tyrosh didn't even turn their heads upon hearing it—they had heard it too many times to care. The only reaction came from the castle's master bedroom, where Nymeria opened a window and looked down at her son in the plaza.
"My dragon is coming. It's time for me to leave." Darkseid could sense his black dragon accelerating from Skull Isle.
As they waited for the dragon's arrival, Sauron turned to Darkseid again. "You all know the headquarters of the Dragon Cult beneath the castle, right?"
"Except for Lilith—who's scared of the dark and only went once—we've all been down there plenty of times. We even lived there for a while," Darkseid replied.
Behind his red mask, Quaithe chuckled. The Dragon Cult headquarters was always teeming with people, yet these children, afraid of navigating the tunnels, always acted as if there was something terrifying hidden inside. Every time they went down, they'd jump at every shadow.
"I found something in the deepest level of the warehouse," Sauron continued mysteriously. "A hidden chamber disguised with an illusion spell. I used shadow magic to slip inside, and there was a chest. Inside the chest was a sheepskin scroll radiating powerful magical energy!"
Lyonel: "It's not surprising to find strange things in Wright's castle, is it?"
Sauron: "Ordinary magical items don't catch my interest, but the power contained in that scroll is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's as scorching as molten lava."
"No! You must not touch that thing. I will inform Lord Wright immediately!" Quaithe had seen that scroll before when Wright brought it back so carefully. It exuded an ominous aura.
"Don't, Quaithe! Don't tell my father. I swear I won't touch the scroll, all right?" Sauron clung tightly to Quaithe's waist.
The others were long used to the closeness between Sauron and Quaithe. They ate together, studied together, trained together, and even bathed and slept without separating.
"You swear!" The red mask exposed Quaithe's eyes, and he gazed seriously at Sauron.
"I swear I won't touch that scroll!"
"Remember your oath."
Meanwhile, Darkseid memorized everything about the scroll.
A mighty dragon flew from afar, its body stretching close to thirty meters from head to tail, with a wingspan of nearly thirty-five meters. Odahviing had said that they were in their fastest growth phase, and once they reached around forty meters in length, their growth would slow, shifting toward increasing the heat of their dragonfire and the magic within them.
Perhaps in another ten years, when their heads were broad enough, they could stand atop them in battle like Wright. For now, they could only ride or stand on their backs. Tying the gifts from their siblings onto the dragon's back, Darkseid flew westward.
"All this ceremony for a mere posting," Wright sneered as he watched the children from the master bedroom's window.
Smack! Nymeria slapped Wright on the back. "Isn't it all your fault? Talking about how the Dornish lords needed to send troops against the Others and how we had to send them a dragon prince first."
Wright caught Nymeria's restless hand. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. This just happened to be a good opportunity to hold something over our son's head."
"Wright, are you sure Geralt will be fine?" Margaery asked, rubbing her belly.
"Geralt will be fine. I'm more worried about Darkseid. He's too clever. I fear he'll take a crooked path someday." Wright regretted giving the children such grand names.
"He's the future Prince of Dorne. His magic is something you and I taught him together. How far wrong could he go?" Tyene, who adored the diligent and studious Darkseid, chimed in.
Wright sank into the sofa. "I'm no prophet, but I worry he might cause some magical disaster."
"Massage my feet." Nymeria unceremoniously stretched her feet onto Wright's lap. Across from them, reading a book, Kana also turned and extended her feet onto Wright's lap.
"With skills like mine, I ought to write a book and pass it down!" Wright began massaging the soles of their four feet with magic.
Nymeria oversaw the military affairs of Dorne and Tyrosh, Tyene handled magic and alchemy, and Kana managed the treasury. With the three of them, Wright's life was much easier.
"Heh, I know what you're thinking. I checked—tonight, the navy isn't returning to port, and there are no business dealings. You've got no excuse to slip away again!" Margaery gave Wright a knowing look.
The three of them were at an age of insatiable appetite, and if Wright weren't at the peak of his prime at thirty-two, he wouldn't be able to keep up. Now that Margaery had joined, Wright often found excuses to sneak out at night.
"How could I? I'm staying home tonight, not going anywhere." Wright paused. "My little apprentice, Rosamund Lannister, is getting married soon. We'll have to fly to the Westerlands, and it'll be a long journey. We should conserve our strength."
"Willen and Rosamund's wedding? Feels like just yesterday she was a clueless young girl leaving home for the first time." Margaery reminisced about taking Rosamund around the docks of King's Landing, teaching her how to read people.
"We'll set off in a few days. I've written to Renly, asking him to ride a dragon to pick you up." Wright informed Margaery.
"Can't my son's dragon carry me?" Margaery thought about how large the blue dragon had grown.
Wright: "A dragon's temperament shifts based on its rider. Lyonel frequently uses magic, so Okaaztuz's body sometimes discharges uncontrolled lightning arcs. You'll have to wait until he masters it before you can ride him."
Margaery: "How long will that take?"
Wright: "In dragon years? Maybe twenty."
"Lilith's red dragon, Judhungaar, is very gentle—almost like a lady. Lilith has taken me flying several times," Tyene offered, handing Wright a glass of fruit juice.
---
Before Wright even set out, Geralt had already boarded a ship bound for White Harbor in the North.
The tall, slender figure was clad in a black Tyroshi-style chainmail, with two longswords strapped to his back, concealed beneath his cloak. His white hair was tucked under his hood—he didn't want people pointing fingers at his unusual hair color.
"There haven't even been any pirates along the way. How boring," Geralt muttered as he stood on the deck, letting the sea breeze wash over him.
The captain, who was steering the ship, overheard him. "Lad, if you're looking for pirates, you need to go to Essos. No one dares be a pirate around here anymore. Steal a single ship, and within days, a dragon will be on your tail."
"True enough." Geralt knew that Wright had young dragonriders use pirates as live targets for practicing aerial combat and magic.
"That said, we do have daily sparring matches on deck. The winner gets a roast chicken—not a grand prize, but it livens things up. You look like a knight yourself, lad. Care to join today's bout?" the captain suggested.
Unlike merchant ships, which were packed with cargo, passenger ships mainly carried people. Geralt wasn't the only one bored on board. On long journeys like this, passengers either entertained themselves in the cabins with music, dance, and gambling or engaged in sparring matches on deck.
"Well, since you're inviting me, I'll give it a try."
After dinner, the passengers scattered to their preferred activities, with those interested in combat gathering on deck for the small sparring tournament, where fights ended before serious injury.
Many passengers were still getting used to the constant swaying of the ship, so only a few had signed up for today's fights. The journey was long, and more would surely join in the coming days.
The first match was between two burly men. One wore a red surcoat over his chainmail, while the other wore blue. Both wielded standard-issue Tyroshi naval battle-axes, their armor and weapons gifts granted to them upon retiring from the navy.
"Who's your bet on, lad?" The captain, a Northerner, had taken a liking to Geralt's polite manners, likely seeing him as a highborn traveling incognito.
"The one in red will win," Geralt stated confidently, crossing his arms.
"Why's that? The blue one is a whole head taller and much bigger."
"They're both former Tyroshi sailors. The big guy in blue was probably a rower, while the one in red—judging by his moves—was a boarding axe fighter, trained for close combat and archery."
Sure enough, just moments after Geralt spoke, the red-clad man emerged victorious.
"There are only four participants today. It's your turn now," the captain said.
Geralt nodded, stepping into the center of the deck. He didn't remove his cloak—only shifting it aside to draw a black longsword before assuming his fighting stance.
"Sea Wraith! That's the Valyrian steel sword, Sea Wraith! He's the mage Geralt—he can't join the tournament!" the red-clad fighter from before shouted.
"Damn it." Geralt pulled back his hood, visibly annoyed as he stepped aside.
Mages were barred from competing in combat tournaments. Many among their ranks had been pushing to have the rule abolished or at least to hold separate tournaments for spellcasters, but King Renly had yet to approve any such change.
"Good thing you recognized him, or I'd have been in real trouble," Geralt's would-be opponent sighed in relief.
Sea Wraith retained Valyrian steel's original smoky black hue, its hilt plain and unadorned. Geralt had never bothered to add any embellishments after acquiring it.
The blade had a unique design, covered in strange ridges and tiny perforations. When swung, it produced a piercing, wailing shriek that could be heard from hundreds of yards away, an unbearable sound that grated on the ears of anyone nearby. If Geralt channeled magic into it, the noise could even rupture eardrums and make those around him bleed from their ears.