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Before the duel, Syrio gave Viserys a lesson that no training courtyard could provide.
North of Braavos, the Shivering Sea stretched out in a vast expanse of grey-green hostility. They were aboard one of Ringo's crab boats, drifting through the richest and most dangerous fishing grounds in the known world. Saltwater lashed their faces, tasting of brine and cold iron.
Viserys stood at the bow, watching the gales whip the ocean into a frenzy. The boat, though sturdy, felt like a mere insect compared to the rolling mountains of water. Some waves were as tall as the city walls of King's Landing, roaring as they broke against the hull.
"Hold on tight!" the helmsman bellowed.
"It is terrifying," Viserys admitted, feeling the raw, chaotic power of the elements.
"This is a gentle summer breeze," Ringo chuckled, his hands steady on the rail. "The storms in the White Waste to the far north—those are the ones that turn men into ghosts. They say there are ice dragons up there, and fog so cold it freezes a ship in a heartbeat, leaving the crew to be dragged into the abyss by pale, black-scaled mermaids."
Viserys didn't mention the Others, but he felt the truth in the legends. The world was waking up, and the cold was coming. But for now, he had a butcher to kill.
"Watch the waves, Viserys," Syrio said, his voice cutting through the roar of the wind. "Water is the source of the dance. Most swordsmen only watch the blade in front of them. That is why they die. True Insight is to observe everything—the wind, the tilt of the deck, the rhythm of the tide."
Viserys watched. He saw how the waves didn't strike once; they stacked. One force superimposed upon another, building a momentum that was unstoppable.
"My sword strikes should be like the waves," Viserys realized. "One wave higher than the last. An unending flow."
"You are learning," Syrio nodded. "Insight is above speed and above strength. It is the truth beneath the mask. The Faceless Men use magic to blur the eyes; the Water Dancer uses Insight to see through the blur."
Ringo spat into the sea. "I don't know about 'Insight,' but I know that after forty years at sea, I can hear the wind before it blows. I know where the crabs are because I can feel the movement of the deep. Practice makes the man."
As they turned back toward the city, the mist receded, and the Titan of Braavos loomed over the horizon. The massive stone and bronze sentinel straddled the gap between the islands, its burning eyes two caves of fire, its broken bronze sword reaching for the sky.
"The Titan is the symbol of Braavos," Syrio said as they passed beneath its legs. "It stands firm against the storm. I hope you do the same in the Moon Pool."
"The Warrior grants me strength," Viserys said, his hand resting on the dragonbone hilt of his dagger.
"You must win, exiled prince!" the sailors cheered, their voices echoing off the Titan's granite legs. "Crush those Preston lackeys! Show them the dragon still has teeth!"
Viserys looked at the city of stone and secrets. He felt the bottleneck of his training finally beginning to crack. He wasn't just a student anymore. He was the tide, and in seven days, the tide would come for Mero.
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