The morning star in the sky was fading, and the mists in the east could no longer hide the brightening dawn.
Marcus, the soldier on watch duty guarding Viserys, immediately saluted when he saw the young king step out from the cabin.
"Your Majesty, we should reach Nasar before noon."
"How far are we now from Nasar?" Viserys asked, looking out over the broad river.
Marcus spread open the map, made a few quick calculations, and replied, "Less than twenty miles, Your Majesty."
Viserys nodded. His gaze followed the wide river toward the distant horizon, where darkness was slowly giving way to light.
As the fleet drew nearer to Gohor, his sensitivity to water magic grew sharper.
When dawn finally broke, and they were only a few dozen leagues from Nasar, the presence of the water elements around them became distinct.
No longer a vague, turbulent blur—it was now divided into several clear, concentrated regions.
Those regions were where the chaotic water magic was emanating from, wild and unstable, like an overloaded power box spraying out sparks.
Viserys took out the map Lothan had given him. On it, he found that the areas marked with red crosses perfectly overlapped with the zones of magical turbulence he sensed.
Even the size of those turbulent areas matched the red markings precisely.
That gave him confidence. Perhaps he could avoid those dangerous regions entirely and head straight for the core.
Lothan, being only a water mage, had wandered aimlessly like a headless fly when he first arrived at Nasar.
But Viserys was something far more advanced—his perception worked like a powerful radar, allowing him to detect magical turbulence ahead of time and steer clear of it.
Lothan had once said that the so-called "Prince's Roar" was nothing more than a mass of roaming, violent energy.
Perhaps, with his own heightened sensitivity to water magic, Viserys could avoid it before it even approached.
Compared to the fiery magic of Dragonstone's volcanic heart, the water magic at Nasar was much denser—almost intoxicatingly so.
That thought stirred something in him—an unbidden longing for Valyria itself.
The Smoking Sea formed from the eruption of the Fourteen Flames… The home of forty dragonlord families… The cradle where thousands of dragons once bred and soared.
When he grew stronger, he told himself, he would go explore it—perhaps even find a dragon egg of his own.
After all, if Euron could find one, why couldn't he?
By midday, after the crew had eaten, the ruins along both riverbanks grew increasingly dense.
At first, the crumbled walls barely reached a man's height, but soon, the remnants of larger structures appeared—collapsed domes, and rows of rotted wooden beams.
Wooden beams that, even after a thousand years, had not decayed into dust. The sight made Viserys silently marvel at the height of Rhyonar civilization.
He could also feel how the lingering water magic in those ruins still strove to preserve them, holding their fragments together.
"It's a Bone-Breaker!"
Jona pointed excitedly at a group of massive aquatic creatures along the shore.
"Bone-Breakers?"
The fierce-sounding name made Viserys quickly lift his spyglass to look.
What he saw were enormous turtles—each shell easily the size of a table, their surfaces rippling with wave-like patterns.
Noticing the approaching strangers, the turtles stretched their long necks, drew in deep breaths, and then sank silently beneath the water.
Only then did Viserys realize that this gathering spot of the "Bone-Breakers" was once a harbor, large enough to dock dozens of ships—now completely claimed by those creatures as their nesting ground.
As the fleet pressed farther in, the group began to make out streets on either side of the river.
Though buried under debris, moss, and vines, the wide avenues far exceeded the breadth of King's Landing's main roads.
"All thanks to your Valyrian ancestors," Jona said, gazing coldly at a nearby building of faded pink marble.
A row of broken archways stretched before them like the strings of an ancient, shattered harp—tragic yet beautiful.
This was Nasar.
Jorel placed a calming hand on her sister's arm, but Jona's eyes still glinted with resentment as she looked at Viserys.
She could not accept that a Valyrian's mastery of water magic could surpass even that of her own grandfather.
"Don't worry," Viserys said softly. "One day, I'll help you build something even greater."
His words caught both sisters off guard.
They had expected him to shrug it off—to say something like, "That was a thousand years ago; what does it have to do with me?"
After all, he could hardly be blamed for the sins of a bygone age.
Yet instead of deflecting, he made a promise.
As Viserys leapt lightly from the ship to the ancient shore, Jona pursed her lips and muttered under her breath, "Hmph, big talk."
Viserys left ten of his academy guards and ten soldiers behind to watch over the ships. Then, with the rest of his men and the mule carts, he set foot on the desolate soil of Nasar.
He didn't charge recklessly forward, however. Before entering the mist-shrouded ruins, he had Arthur repeat the plan once more.
Considering how unstable water magic might interfere with his perception inside Nasar, he had prepared carefully.
Before setting out, Viserys had divided everyone into pairs. Each pair carried five wildfire torches and a spyglass.
Every ten or so leagues, one pair would remain behind to light a torch. That was the maximum distance at which Viserys could still sense the presence of fire magic.
Inside Nasar, he would no longer have the advantage of a "god's-eye view," as if looking down from a map. The torches would serve as his guideposts, helping him orient himself.
"Two people must take turns keeping watch," Viserys ordered. "If any neighboring torch goes out, you're to go immediately—check it and assist!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
The soldiers' unified shout rang out with disciplined strength, enough to make Jona and her sister glance at them in surprise.
They were all from the original Dragonstone fleet—the first to follow Viserys to the continent of Essos.
They had never tasted defeat, and with their king's generous rewards spurring them onward, their morale and loyalty were unmatched.
It was because of that loyalty that Viserys could entrust them with guarding his retreat.
But he failed to notice that, at that moment, Oberyn was quietly slipping away toward the edge of the formation.
Most eyes were focused either on Arthur's orders or on the ruins around them—no one paid attention to Oberyn's movements.
He had secretly copied the map Lothan had given them, and his mind was already made up. He would find the Prince's Spear before Viserys did, no matter what.
Climbing over several moss-covered walls, Oberyn turned and called back to the group in a loud voice,
"Three days from now, I'll be waiting for you here—with the Prince's Spear in hand!"
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor