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"Ugh…"
The dizzy spell hammering his skull yanked Aemon out of a deep sleep. He groaned, pressing both palms to his temples.
He lay there for a long moment, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Only when the worst of the vertigo passed did he finally sit up. The moment he moved, the waiting maids outside heard the noise and quietly opened the door, slipping inside to attend him.
Under their careful hands, Aemon was soon washed, dressed, and presentable. Once his morning ablutions were finished, he headed straight for the castle's dining hall.
Last night's feast had been heavy on the wine. The hangover still throbbed behind his eyes, and his stomach growled loudly, demanding food.
When he stepped into the hall, someone was already at the long table eating breakfast. Who else could it be but Gaemon?
Seeing his younger brother walk in, Gaemon looked up with a wicked grin and teased, "Well, well—if it isn't Prince Aemon, the man who boasted he could drink a thousand cups without falling. You look like you lost that bet last night."
Aemon ignored the jab. He walked straight to the table, dropped into a chair, and reached across to snatch a slice of bread from Gaemon's plate, stuffing it into his mouth without ceremony.
The soft, warm texture of the white bread instantly soothed his empty stomach.
A serving man noticed the Crown Prince's arrival and quickly set a full breakfast in front of him.
As the plates were arranged, Aemon asked around a mouthful of bread, "Where's Baelon? It's just you here."
Gaemon shrugged. "Still sleeping it off, probably. He drank even more than you did last night."
Aemon didn't bother replying. If he felt this rough, Baelon had to be in even worse shape.
Once his own meal was laid out, he picked up a bowl of wheat porridge and dug in. The rich aroma of grain mixed with savory meat broth helped clear the fog in his head. Between bites he asked Gaemon, "Now that the smiths have mastered Dragonsteel, your work here is done. When are you heading back?"
Gaemon's grin widened. "Oh? Trying to kick me off your island already? Fine, I'll finish breakfast and leave right now."
Aemon nearly choked. "That's not what I meant! I was just asking about your plans so I can make arrangements."
Seeing his brother flustered, Gaemon's smile turned mischievous. "So you don't want me to leave? This is Dragonstone—your fief. I don't have any reason to stay if I'm not wanted."
Aemon, still half-drunk and completely outmatched, finally surrendered. "Alright, alright—stop teasing. Just tell me what you're really thinking."
Only then did Gaemon drop the playful act. His expression turned serious.
"I plan to stay on Dragonstone a little longer. I want to examine the volcano and the wild dragons. Something about the number of active volcanoes in the world feels off to me. There shouldn't be so few."
Aemon looked genuinely curious. "Why not? Aren't volcanoes tied to magic? Haven't you read the family archives?"
Gaemon couldn't exactly explain that, in his previous life, volcanoes were common geological features found all over the planet. Instead he simply repeated that he wanted to investigate the volcano more closely.
Aemon didn't press further. He only warned, "Be careful. There are still several wild dragons scattered across the island. Don't get yourself hurt."
Gaemon nodded. "I'll be careful."
After they finished breakfast together, Gaemon took the underground passage from the castle back to the dragon caves.
Even though the sky outside was bright, the caves remained pitch black—true darkness where you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face.
Guided by the Dragonkeepers, Gaemon reached the dragon-riding platform. Bahamut, already summoned, waited there with his saddle perfectly aligned with the platform's height.
With the keepers' help, Gaemon climbed smoothly into the saddle. At his mental command, Bahamut spread his massive wings—now spanning nearly sixty meters—and launched himself into the air with a powerful push of his hind legs, soaring out through the great opening at the top of the cave.
Once clear of the mountain, Bahamut banked and headed straight for the volcano.
Seated in the saddle, Gaemon felt the thick concentration of magic in the air and directed Bahamut toward the strongest source.
The platinum dragon flew directly to the mouth of Dragonstone's volcano.
The air around Gaemon was saturated with magical energy. He could sense that the source of it all was erupting from deep within the crater.
It was as if the volcano itself was a fountain of magic, awakening the normally sluggish and lifeless energies of the world.
Gaemon sat on Bahamut's back, surrounded by thick white steam that reeked of sulfur. An ordinary man would have been unable to breathe here, but Gaemon was no ordinary man.
Riding the scorching updrafts rising from the crater, he guided Bahamut to land on the rim. Looking down, he saw the red glow of molten rock far below. The surface of the lava occasionally burst open, and with every eruption, fresh waves of magic spilled into the air.
To Gaemon's magical sight, what flowed in that crater wasn't lava at all—it was liquid magical energy, dense and alive.
He extended his own magic downward, following the flow of molten rock deep into the heart of the mountain, probing for the source.