Gaimon sat attentively in his seat, listening to Queen Alysanne's instructions. He maintained a composed, educated expression, careful not to betray any signs of boredom or impatience. The queen, noting his apparent obedience, paused mid-sentence, glanced at him briefly, and then returned to her duties. Managing the movements of dozens of noble families at once was no small task; friction was inevitable, and Queen Alysanne had to step in repeatedly to mediate disputes and keep order. Today, as always, her schedule was relentless.
Seeing his mother once again immersed in her responsibilities, Gaimon exhaled quietly in relief. He had narrowly avoided yet another potentially awkward encounter, another "disaster" he would have had to navigate had he been caught daydreaming or acting out of turn. The young prince's eyes scanned the surrounding tents. Not a soul seemed to notice him, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed.
Hunting, to Gaimon, was merely a side activity—a distraction from more pressing matters. He stepped out of the tent, moving with measured ease toward the open area where Jon Clinton waited. The older knight straightened at once, his posture stiff with respect.
"Your Highness, everyone is ready. When shall we depart?" Jon asked, his voice carrying the slight urgency of someone eager to begin.
"Tomorrow," Gaimon replied without turning his head. "It is late. If we rush now, darkness may overtake us before we reach our destination."
Jon nodded silently, respecting Gaimon's judgment. The prince had other priorities, after all. While the hunting competition was a formal occasion for many, Gaimon's mind was elsewhere—on strategy, on development, and on the future.
Before the hunt, Gaimon had a plan. He intended to request a parcel of land from King Jaehaerys, a tract that could be shaped into a stronghold, a thriving territory under his management. After careful study of the maps, he had set his sights on a location near the Imperial Forest, a choice that was strategic as much as it was pragmatic.
Once on-site, he planned to personally inspect the land. Maps, after all, could never replace firsthand observation. Terrain, soil quality, accessibility, and the surrounding natural resources could only truly be assessed by walking the ground—or, in Gaimon's case, flying above it. He understood the gravity of selecting the right spot: one poor choice could render all previous efforts worthless.
With his plan in mind, Gaimon returned to his tent under Jon's watchful guidance. After a full day of activity in the air and on the ground, fatigue tugged at his limbs. He resolved to rest deeply, for tomorrow's endeavors would demand both mind and body in full measure.
---
The next morning broke quietly, the pale light of dawn spilling over the camp. King Jaehaerys sounded the horn, signaling the start of the hunting competition. Knights clad in leather and plate armor surged forward, their war horses moving in practiced unison. Longbows slung across their backs, swords sheathed at their sides, they ventured into the Royal Forest with disciplined determination.
Each nobleman was accompanied by guards, mounted and vigilant, while skilled hunters led fierce dogs through the underbrush. The air was alive with anticipation, the forest echoing with the occasional call of a bird or the distant crack of branches.
Gaimon, however, paid little attention to the spectacle. His eyes were fixed elsewhere—on Bahamut, his colossal dragon. The great beast awaited patiently, wings tucked, tail coiling gently on the ground. Gaimon approached and rested a hand on the dragon's broad back.
"Bahamut, I'm sorry to bother you again today," he murmured.
The dragon responded with a low, humming vibration, a sound that seemed to convey understanding. Gaimon adjusted his grip on the reins and settled himself firmly. At a gentle tug, Bahamut rose slowly to his feet. With a powerful flap of wings, he lifted into the air, creating a gust that rippled through the surrounding tents.
From above, the world spread out like a map. Forests, rivers, and hills all lay beneath him in vivid clarity. Gaimon steered Bahamut toward the northeast, focusing on a concave bay nestled between the Royal Forest and Cape Marseille, where the Wende River met the Blackwater Bay.
The Wende River was a vital artery of the Crownlands. Originating deep within Kingswood, it wound northward, its waters a striking light blue from the grass, leaves, and humus carried downstream. Though abundant in fish, the river had been largely untouched, its potential underutilized. Surrounding forests offered timber, and the river itself promised a natural trade route connecting the Imperial Forest to the sea.
Gaimon's eyes swept over the landscape. From his vantage point, the river's basin appeared almost idyllic: flat terrain bordered by dense woodlands, occasional deer and boar darting to the water's edge, and the calm expanse of the river reflecting the soft light of morning. The area was rich in resources, fertile, and strategically positioned—a perfect site for development.
As Bahamut glided smoothly over the river, Gaimon's focus narrowed to the details: the stability of the water, the width of the river, the slow but steady current, and the tributaries branching outward. This river could irrigate fields, support settlements, and serve as a reliable transport route. Gaimon's mind raced with possibilities: ports, bridges, roads, and farms. The potential prosperity of the Wende River region filled him with a quiet satisfaction.
Yet, below in the forest, hidden eyes watched. Small, cautious voices whispered among the trees.
"Brother! Is that a dragon?"
"It must be. A member of the royal family, perhaps. Let's stay hidden—don't let him see us."
The poachers and landless refugees, scrambling to make a living in the Imperial Forest, had no idea that the massive dragon overhead had already passed them. If Gaimon had been attentive to the shadows below, he might have identified these intruders, but today his priorities lay elsewhere. The management of the land, the strategic placement of settlements, and the vision of prosperity demanded his full attention.
Continuing along the Wende River, Gaimon allowed himself a moment of reflection. The river's estuary revealed clear tidal patterns: high tides pushing inward, low tides exposing mudflats and hidden channels. The flow was gentle yet substantial, navigable by boats and ships, while the surrounding lands promised fertile fields and dense forests.
By midday, Gaimon and Bahamut reached the river's end at Wendekou. The scene was tranquil, almost serene. The river spread wide into the bay, the water glinting under the sun. Ships from distant ports could easily navigate the river, establishing trade routes that connected inland settlements to the wider world. Gaimon envisioned a future where commerce and agriculture thrived here, a bustling hub at the edge of the Royal Forest.
Hovering in the sky, he traced the river with his eyes, noting every bend, tributary, and potential settlement site. The estuary could serve as a port, the flatlands for farming, and the dense forests for timber and game. With careful planning, this area could support hundreds of families, perhaps even form the nucleus of a future principality.
As the sun climbed higher, Bahamut gently descended along the riverbank. Gaimon dismounted, standing on the soft earth, feeling the pulse of the land beneath his feet. Every detail mattered: soil quality, proximity to water, natural defenses, and access routes. Here, he saw not just a river but the lifeblood of a prosperous future.
He allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. This was more than reconnaissance—it was the foundation of a vision. Once developed, this land could provide wealth, security, and influence, cementing Gaimon's legacy in the Crownlands for generations to come.
But Gaimon knew patience was essential. The land would not yield its full potential overnight, nor would the king grant it without careful negotiation. First, he needed to secure the claim. Then, he would slowly build, shaping the territory with strategy and foresight. Every decision mattered, from the location of the first settlement to the layout of the roads and waterways.
As he mounted Bahamut once more, Gaimon cast one final glance at the Wende River. Its tranquil waters, fertile banks, and untapped resources gleamed with promise. Above him, the sky stretched wide, filled with the possibilities of the future. With a gentle nudge, Bahamut soared into the air, carrying the young prince toward the next chapter of his ambitions—toward a destiny yet to be written, but already imagined in every detail.
For now, the river waited, serene and untouched, a hidden gem in the Crownlands. But under Gaimon's careful watch, it would not remain hidden for long.
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