Chapter 20 Time to Go
Vaelros was annoyed.
Not irritated.
Not frustrated.
Annoyed.
The kind of annoyed that made his jaw clench and his eyelid twitch while he dug through his bag, muttering curses in Valyrian, Common, and a few languages he invented on the spot.
They were still inside the Old Valyrian bank — a melted labyrinth of gold, broken gargoyles, and traps that refused to die even after centuries. The air stank of alchemical smoke and old magic.
He didn't care about any of it.
He just wanted to leave.
He had his share. Calen and Tharn had theirs. The mirror‑dimension amulets were full. Their bags were enchanted. Their nerves were frayed.
Now they just needed to get out of the gods‑damned bank.
Fighting Their Way Out
They moved fast, weaving through collapsed corridors and melted statues. The traps were still active blades snapping from walls, pressure plates hissing, alchemical flames bursting from gargoyle mouths.
Vaelros deflected a spear trap with a shaky parry, sweat dripping down his face.
Tharn ducked under a swinging blade and shouted,
"For someone who knows magic, you royally suck at using a sword!"
Vaelros spun, nearly tripping over a melted chest.
"You don't even USE a sword! Pretty sure I can fight better than you!"
Tharn barked a laugh. "You're sweating like a pig!"
Vaelros deflected another strike. "I'm SAVING YOUR ASS, YOU GIANT TREE!"
Calen, ahead of them, yelled back,
"If you two are done flirting, we need to MOVE!"
They could hear screams now — not theirs, but the other crew members. People were fleeing the ruins. Something was happening above. Something bad.
Vaelros shoved a handful of redleaf into his mouth, spat the pulp, and began weaving signs. He changed the magic in the air — fire traps sputtered out, replaced by crackling lightning that fried the last of the constructs blocking their path.
They burst out of the bank and sprinted toward the small boats waiting at the edge of the ruined canal.
Only half the crew remained battered, burned, but alive. They carried chests, scrolls, melted gold, and relics.
The Shadow Above
The moment Vaelros stepped onto the boat, he felt it.
Something was watching them.
A roar split the air deep, ancient, wrong.
The very stone trembled.
The sky above the ruins darkened as a massive shadow passed overhead.
A dragon.
Or something that used to be one.
Half living.
Half dead.
A remnant of Old Valyria.
Its wings were torn, its ribs exposed, its eyes glowing like dying embers. It circled above them, trailing smoke and rot.
Vaelros didn't hesitate.
He slammed his hands together and forced a barrier into existence a shimmering dome of invisible magic that wrapped around the ship like a second skin. The spell burned him from the inside, corrosive Valyrian magic eating at his veins, but he held it.
He dropped into a meditative stance, legs crossed, hands steady, eyes closed.
He became the shield.
The boat pushed off. The oarsmen rowed like their lives depended on it because they did.
The undead dragon roared again, shaking the sea. The fog of the Smoking Sea swallowed them, but the creature's shadow lingered above, circling, searching.
Tharn stared up at it, pale.
"That… that's a monster. That can't be real. What did they MAKE?"
The crew whispered prayers. Some cried. Some clutched their treasure like it would protect them.
Vaelros didn't move.
He held the barrier for hours through the fog, through the heat, through the choking ash. His body trembled. His skin burned. His breath came in shallow gasps.
But he didn't stop.
Reaching the Main Ship
The small boat finally reached the main ship the Ashen Gale, its hull etched with protective runes Vaelros had carved weeks ago. The sigils glowed faintly, reacting to his presence.
The crew hauled him aboard, careful not to break his concentration. The moment his boots hit the deck, the ship's runes flared brighter, merging with his barrier.
The undead dragon roared again closer this time.
Vaelros forced more power into the shield, drawing on the corrosive magic of Valyria itself. It burned him from the inside, but he held it.
The ship pushed through the two ruined gates of Old Valyria massive stone arches half‑collapsed into the sea. The roar faded behind them as they entered the thick fog of the Smoking Sea.
Vaelros kept the barrier up.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
His body shook. His lips bled. His eyes were half‑closed.
But he didn't stop.
The crew guarded him, forming a circle around him with drawn weapons. They didn't know what else might slip through the fog.
Calen took inventory of the treasure. Most of the crew were satisfied enough gold to buy a village, enough relics to retire.
One sailor tried to pocket a Valyrian steel dagger.
Vaelros let him keep it…
after cutting off one of his fingers.
Tension rose. Voices sharpened. Hands drifted toward weapons.
Then
Vaelros gasped and collapsed forward, the barrier finally dropping.
He sucked in air like a drowning man.
"If any of you start something now," he rasped,
"when we are about to be rich… I swear, even half‑dead, I will burn you."
Tharn grabbed him under the arm, lifting him with a bloody grin.
"Finally awake. For a moment I thought you were dead."
Vaelros glared at him, hanging onto his shoulder.
"You thought I was dead? After everything we just did? You bastard."
Calen walked over, smirking.
"Good to see you up, mage. Since you're awake… you get to handle all the paperwork."
Vaelros stared at him.
Annoyed.
Exhausted.
But smiling.
"I hate you both."
Calen clapped him on the back.
" fuck you too."
The Ashen Gale sailed into open waters, leaving the Smoking Sea behind.
They were alive.
They were rich.
And they were fools.
But they were fools together.
.