The next day.
The sky was clear, with white clouds drifting lazily.
Three massive dragons soared over the Dornish desert, crossing into the Reach's territory.
Rhaegar rode atop Devourer in the lead, glancing back at the two dragons trailing behind.
Sheepstealer skulked about sneakily. Aemond hung his head low and plucked a blue eyeball from its socket.
He breathed on it, wiped it clean, and popped it back into place.
Aegon looked completely dejected, lying flat on Sunfyre's back like a salted fish.
"Tsk."
Rhaegar sighed helplessly as he wiped down the broad-bladed greatsword in his hands.
The sword was long and thick, with meteor patterns engraved along its surface. Its blade was a pale, milky-white hue, resembling frosted glass.
A voice suddenly rang out, interrupting his thoughts.
"Exploration complete. Please collect the lost relic."
Rhaegar's eyes lit up as the system panel appeared before him.
[Dawn]
Exploration Progress: 100%
Rhaegar smirked slightly, scanning the area.
Near the edge of his saddle, a purple, ball-sized halo hovered, bouncing up and down with a soft "dudu" sound.
Reaching out, Rhaegar touched the halo. It instantly shattered, dissolving into small purple light particles that merged into his palm.
"Relic collected successfully. Analyzing..."
"Analysis complete. Classified as an Epic Relic: The Heart of the Stars."
"As expected, at the very least, it had to be an epic relic."
Rhaegar scoffed internally as an image of a milky-white iron ingot named Heart of the Stars surfaced in his mind.
With a thought, the ingot materialized out of thin air.
Rhaegar reacted swiftly, catching it midair—it was surprisingly heavy.
Without wasting time, he examined the explorer's provided trigger clue.
"A fallen star, absorbing the magic of starlight, awakens the mysterious treasure."
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow and muttered, "Magic of starlight?"
It was the first time he had ever heard of stars possessing magic.
He had only known of the Rhoynar water wizards and the Valyrian fire sorcerers.
But stars…
"When I was a child, Rhaenyra and I once sneaked into the Flea Bottom markets. Those swindling fortune tellers would always ramble on about stars and moons."
Rhaegar shook his head with a chuckle, storing away the greatsword Dawn and the Heart of the Stars.
The hint was clear enough.
The magic of starlight would awaken the treasure.
He would test it under the night sky.
"Rhaenyra is eight months pregnant now."
Rhaegar let his mind drift, recalling the letter she had sent him.
Their father remained in a constant daze, neglecting his duties for a long time.
Alicent continued scheming, gathering fallen nobles under her influence, preparing for an impending confrontation.
Rhaenyra, heavily pregnant and barely able to walk, was forced to participate in Small Council meetings from her bed, urging him to return to King's Landing.
The realm was restless—it needed a dose of reassurance.
"Screech!"
As he pondered, Devourer soared over the land, gliding toward a coastal bay.
Rhaegar focused his gaze—Whispering Sound, where Oldtown was located.
The bay was long and narrow, deep and winding. Viewed from the sky, it resembled a banana.
Devourer was flying over the eastern shores of Whispering Sound, passing above Three Towers, a castle sworn to House Hightower.
"Ah, so we've ended up in Oldtown after all."
Aegon sighed dramatically, pushing himself up from Sunfyre's back.
Aemond, on the other hand, had no objections. He mumbled, "Oldtown is quite nice—cleaner and more beautiful than King's Landing."
No wonder their mother despised King's Landing and always reminisced about her childhood days elsewhere.
"Screech!"
Suddenly, Devourer's slit-pupiled eyes locked onto a patch of land below. With a roar, he dove.
Rhaegar followed his gaze.
Within the lands of Three Towers, a group of dark-skinned individuals dressed as vagrants had stormed into a village, looting and pillaging like starving wolves.
Boom!
Emerald-green dragonflame rained down from above, engulfing over a hundred of them in an instant.
A sizzling sound filled the air, followed by an eerie silence.
Rhaegar scrutinized the scene carefully.
Beneath their tattered rags, the looters wore leather armor. All had black hair and dark skin—they were Dornish.
One among them carried a small banner depicting a black vulture clutching a baby on a yellow background.
"House Braemon!"
Aemond, riding Sheepstealer, arrived beside him and immediately identified the group.
Ever since losing an eye, he had committed every Dornish noble house and their sigils to memory—a scar on his childhood that would never fade.
Rhaegar barely spared them a glance before urging his dragon forward.
Like House Dayne, House Braemon was not a wealthy family. After enduring the wrath of the dragons, they could, at most, muster a force of two thousand men.
Intelligence reports indicated that a thousand had crossed into the Reach's lands.
Clearly, they had come with the sole intent of pillaging wealth.
…
Oldtown.
The Largest and Oldest City in Westeros
Long before the Andal invasion, this city was already established by the First Men.
It is located in the southwestern corner of the Reach, at the mouth where the Honeywine River flows into Whispering Sound and the Sunset Sea.
With its naturally superior port resources, it has thrived under the diligent governance of House Hightower, making it the most significant among Westeros' five great ports.
At this moment:
The port is bustling with activity, teeming with people and ships of all kinds.
And this is despite the port being closed off, cutting off external trade—otherwise, the flow of people and ships would be even greater.
Inside Oldtown, the layout is elegant, with canals weaving through cobblestone streets, forming a picturesque scene of small bridges and flowing water—a southern haven hidden within the city.
Unlike King's Landing, the political center of the realm, Oldtown is clean and orderly, resembling a charming labyrinth.
### The Hightower – The Lord's Residence
In a luxurious chamber, Lord Manfred paced back and forth before a floor-to-ceiling window, his expression anxious.
His brows were furrowed, a clear sign of his distress.
"Damn it! The Dornish raids on the farms haven't been dealt with yet, and now the Crown Prince is getting involved."
He muttered under his breath, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
The Dornish weren't much of a threat—they would never breach Oldtown's gates.
But with the king in a weakened and declining state, House Hightower needed to prepare. It was time to summon their vassals and King Aegon's grandsons.
His brother and niece had long coveted the throne, constantly scheming against the prince in both obvious and subtle ways.
If the king were to pass away, House Hightower could face dire consequences if they weren't careful.
Back in the day, even Oldtown couldn't withstand the Conqueror's black dragon, Balerion.
Now, they certainly wouldn't stand a chance against Rhaegar Targaryen's dragon, Blackfyre.
As the Oldtown lord wrestled with his worries, a deep, magnetic voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Brother, you are unsettled."
Manfred spun around sharply, his gaze locking onto the white marble table near the door.
Otto sat there with a composed expression, twirling a glass goblet in his hand. Through the deep red of Summerwine, he asked, "The prince isn't even here yet, and you're already panicking?"
Losing nerve before battle—what kind of example was that?
Manfred immediately found an outlet for his frustration. He strode toward the table and growled, "You've been enjoying the comforts of power in King's Landing. What do you know?"
When the dragon's wrath was unleashed, it came without warning. Over a thousand Dornish nobles were slaughtered without hesitation.
Not only were they killed, but their corpses were forged into a sacrificial altar.
Was that someone easy to deal with?
Even Maegor the Cruel had not gone that far.
Otto took a sip of his wine and spoke calmly, "Don't let fear cloud your judgment. I came to help share your burden."
After the failed attempts to recall Aegon and Aemond, Otto had come to accept that those grandsons were unreliable.
Rhaegar's influence was too great—direct resistance would be futile.
In crucial moments, House Hightower had to stand as a united force.
Manfred narrowed his eyes. "Do you have a plan?"
Bang!
Otto set down his goblet and countered with a question, "Why is the prince coming here?"
"What else? To eradicate the remaining Dornish rebels and pay a visit to Oldtown."
Manfred spoke without thinking, then suddenly froze.
Eradicate?
Visit?
Otto smirked. "The prince's visit to Oldtown is nothing more than a show of force. If we actively participate in his campaign, we leave him no reason to find fault with us."
In other words, as long as they didn't expose any weaknesses, they had nothing to fear.
As one of the Great Houses, House Hightower still held certain privileges.
Manfred's expression brightened as he realized the logic. A smile returned to his face. "So, all we need to do is welcome him with hospitality."
Hosting grand banquets was his specialty.
Aside from House Lannister of the Westerlands and House Velaryon of Driftmark, House Hightower was one of the wealthiest families in Westeros.
Money was not an issue!
"No." Otto shook his head, his gaze deep and thoughtful. "The prince's visit isn't just for intimidation—he has another hidden agenda."
His fingers traced the rim of the glass as he mused, "If we play our cards right, we may be able to turn the tables, using the Faith of the Seven and the Citadel to suppress his influence."
The Black and Green factions had been at odds for a long time, with the Greens constantly being suppressed.
Now, on their own turf, were they really going to let an outsider walk all over them?
Manfred was startled by the idea, then had a moment of epiphany—he was the lord of Oldtown, after all.
By the traditions of Westeros, a noble's castle was sacred.
Wind and rain might enter, but the king could not.
If the prince was visiting as a guest, he should be the one showing them respect!
With that thought, Manfred straightened his back, an unexpected sense of confidence surging within him.
Otto's eyes flashed with a calculating glint as he lowered his gaze. "The prince will arrive soon. Stop wasting time in this chamber."
"And where else should I be in the Hightower if not my own chambers?"
Manfred scowled, clearly displeased.
Otto didn't even look up as he replied, "Like my own wife, your wife has passed away. But as the lord of Oldtown, it is only right that you remarry."
Manfred stiffened, his expression darkening. Without another word, he turned and left. "You should've said that earlier. I'm going to find young Lyonel."
Lyonel Hightower was his son.
His wife had died in childbirth, and the infant had barely survived.
To ensure his son's safety, he had refrained from taking another wife ever since.
Bang!
The door shut, leaving Otto alone in the chamber.
He lifted his gaze again, his expression unreadable as he looked out over the city, savoring the strong taste of Summerwine.
The members of House Hightower cared deeply for their family and kin.
---
Noon.
Above Oldtown, the sky was clear.
A colossal dragon, as black as charcoal, soared through the sky, stirring up fierce winds that lashed against the ships in the harbor. It glided effortlessly over the star-strewn cityscape, weaving through the buildings with unrestrained ease.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted.
"Hiss—Gah!"
The Devourer took a deep breath, its emerald slit-pupils gleaming with ferocity as it let out a deafening bellow that shook the entire Old Town to its core.
On the cobblestone streets, terrified residents clutched their heads and screamed, feeling as if lightning had struck beside their ears, sending shockwaves through their eardrums.
Some even fainted on the spot.
Fortunately, the Devourer only roared once before flapping its wings and ascending into the sky.
Just as the townspeople breathed a sigh of relief, thinking they had escaped danger—
"Hiss—Gah!"
"Hiss—Gah…"
Two more piercing dragon cries rang out, filled with an unmistakable hint of provocation.
The Sheep Thief, lightning-fast, carried Imond as it streaked into Old Town, deliberately circling around the bell tower of the Starry Cathedral.
With a flick of its rough tail, it struck the bronze bell, sending a deep, resonant chime reverberating through the air.
Meanwhile, Sunflame let out a series of shrill cries, its golden body glowing brilliantly under the sunlight, constantly shimmering with the faint hue of pink along its wings.
The two dragons streaked across the city sky, closely tailing the massive black dragon, whose sheer size dwarfed them both.
The Devourer soared onward, gliding over the vast cityscape, heading straight for the towering residence of the Haetal family.
Below lay a vast lake that flowed into the Mead River, with a lush, fragrant island at its center.
A bridge connected the island to the city, while boats drifted across the tranquil waters.
And on that island stood the Skyreach Tower.
The Devourer flew over the lake, its eyes locking onto the ivory-white spire of the Skyreach Tower.
Reigar gazed silently ahead, an odd glint flashing in his eyes.
Skyreach Tower certainly lived up to its name—its height was truly staggering.
Standing over 800 feet tall, the cylindrical stone structure spiraled upward, its grandeur undeniable.
"There's only so much manpower can achieve… This must be a magical structure," Reigar speculated.
Looking down, he saw the massive doors of the Skyreach Tower wide open.
Below, Mond led a group of attendants to welcome their guests, but from this height, they looked as small as insects.
Reigar smiled, but his gaze shifted toward the tower's pinnacle.
Dorne was invading—so why hadn't they lit the tower's beacon to summon their vassals for battle?
"Heh, let me give you a hand."
A sharp glint flickered in Reigar's eyes as he patted the Devourer's back.
"Hiss—Gah!"
The dragon understood instantly. Its emerald pupils burned with arrogance as it beat its wings, rising beyond the tower's peak.
On the ground, Mond waited impatiently, eager to welcome the crown prince.
To his surprise, the black dragon merely circled the tower once—then ascended even higher.
"Could it be… His Highness wishes to admire the view from above?"
Confident in the tower's magnificence, Mond entertained the thought with pride.
But the next moment—
"Hiss—Gah!"
The black dragon coiled around the tower, baring its fanged maw in a sinister grin, locking its sights on the tower's pinnacle.
From afar, it resembled a dreadful deity gazing upon the mortal realm.
BOOM—
A jet of eerie green dragonfire burst forth, shattering the ancient white stone that had stood untouched for a thousand years, engulfing the spire in flames.
Right before Mond's eyes.
The entire population of Old Town turned their heads in unison, staring in stunned silence.
Skyreach Tower—was alight!
The war beacon, a symbol of conflict, burned once more with its ominous green glow.
Reigar's lips curled upward as he admired his handiwork.
Mond, in stark contrast, stood frozen as if turned to stone. He was drowning in dead silence, unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed.
Then, a walnut-sized chunk of rubble tumbled from above, landing at his feet.
And at that moment, a heart-wrenching, anguished cry tore through the air:
"No!!"
(End of Chapter)