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To bring dragons back into this world, if there truly exists a will of heaven that governs this realm, would be nothing less than a direct defiance of that divine will.
The sky hung low and heavy, cloaked in dense, gray clouds. All signs pointed toward an impending storm.
Standing atop the highest floor of the towering Sea God Tower, Clay faced the howling sea winds that whipped through the stone pillars and slammed fiercely against his face. His long bangs were lifted by the gusts, dancing wildly in the air like tattered banners.
His gaze shifted away from the bustling harbor below, where the fleet was preparing to set sail, the air filled with the clamor of men and horses. He turned east, toward the open sea. At the edge of his vision, there was nothing but endless ocean—no hint of land.
But he knew well what lay beyond the Eastern Narrow Sea. On that distant continent, a girl as young as he was would soon carry out a blood ritual. Using her Targaryen blood as the key, she would stake three lives in a desperate gamble, unleashing an immense magical force capable of awakening the dragon sealed in stone.
Time, however, was not on his side. He could not sacrifice himself in blood, yet he still intended to hatch his own dragon, by his own hands.
Before coming here, Clay had flooded his body with an immense surge of magic—five hundred points in a single breath. It was the absolute limit of what his body could withstand. Now, he felt as if he were on the brink of collapse once more. Even taking a single step seemed to demand every ounce of strength he had left.
"I've prepared for so long, just for this very day."
His whisper was lost in the roar of the wind. Without hesitation, Clay stepped into the chamber at the very top of the tower, a room that seemed suspended high above the heavens.
He locked the door behind him, then carefully inspected everything inside. This time, nothing could be allowed to interfere with the hatching process.
The old lord had issued the strictest of commands: no one was to enter the top of the Sea God Tower under any circumstances. Intruders were to be killed without question or mercy.
Clay opened the trapdoor in the ceiling and threw open all the windows. Today, he would set a great fire. Without sufficient oxygen, it would never burn properly.
The room was empty, save for the center, where a frame had been built from the most flame-resistant wood. Had Clay not known its true purpose, he might have mistaken it for a cremation platform.
From his inventory, he took out the blue-and-gold dragon egg, placing it carefully in the exact center of the wooden frame.
In his heart surged a newly awakened bloodline—one that fused two mighty forces into a single, powerful lineage. This bloodline granted him the same power that the young Daenerys, not yet the Mother of Dragons, possessed on the far side of the sea.
He did not fear fire.
He first realized it one night when candle wax dripped onto his hand, yet he felt no pain. To be certain, he held his finger over an open flame. The fire danced along his skin, but nothing happened. No burn. No blister—Only warmth.
"I wonder, will I too earn the title of Unburnt someday?"
Clay smiled faintly, then began to undress.
It was neither out of vanity nor obsession. If he did not remove the noble garments he wore, made at great expense, they would be reduced to ashes in the fire that was soon to come.
Though he possessed great wealth, he did not see the point in squandering it needlessly.
As for his hair? That no longer mattered.
Even in the dim natural light filtering through the cloudy sky, the blue-and-gold dragon egg shimmered with brilliance. His instincts told him that the creature that would emerge would be a truly beautiful one.
Everything was ready. Without further delay, Clay pointed his left hand at the wooden frame, calling forth his magic.
He invoked the Witcher's Sign—Igni, the Firestream.
A bright surge of fire burst forth from his left palm, instantly lighting up the darkened room.
The wooden frame caught fire immediately. It had been coated with oil to ensure it would ignite quickly and burn steadily. A wave of heat spread through the chamber, and within mere minutes, the fire engulfed the base of the entire structure.
The room, small and circular, allowed the warmth of the flame to build quickly.
Taking a deep breath, Clay stepped into the flickering tongues of fire. Heat alone would not be enough to awaken the dragon sealed in stone.
Now was the time to offer the most devout sacrifice for this sacred ritual—his own blood.
In a flash of steel, the ritual dagger, crafted for this single purpose, sliced across his wrist. A rush of fresh blood spilled out, flowing over the blue and gold surface of the dragon egg.
The crimson droplets, gleaming against the egg's lustrous shell, shimmered in the firelight with a strange and eerie beauty.
Clay could feel his blood draining, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. The method taught by the Three-Eyed Raven had never said how much dragonlord blood was needed to awaken a dragon egg.
As long as it remained within the limits of what he could bear, he would give it all.
Strands of blood mist evaporated in the heat, yet unknowingly, some of it was absorbed into the egg itself.
Now that the offering had been made, it was time for the magic to surge.
The massive reservoir of magic within his body, bloated and swelling, finally found a channel through which to flow. Clay placed both hands on the dragon egg, his blood dripping from his wounds, his magic streaming from his fingertips.
Together, Fire and Blood sought a single goal. Under the heat of the blazing fire, the egg was growing hotter by the second.
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Outside the Sea God Tower, the people of White Harbor—the citizens loyal to House Manderly—stood in stunned silence, their necks craned as they looked up at the topmost point of the family's stronghold.
Thick black smoke from the burning wood billowed out through the windows, forming a dark column in the twilight sky.
The Sea God Tower was on fire? Such a disaster could not have come at a worse time, especially with war already looming on the horizon.
Countless citizens, driven by anxiety and devotion, rushed to the New Keep with all kinds of water vessels—buckets, basins, and pots—filled to the brim.
The guards stationed at the walls of the New Keep had long since received orders from Lord Wyman. He had told them that something unusual might occur at the top of the Sea God Tower that night. Their duty was to hold their ground no matter what. White Harbor must not fall into chaos.
Though the true reason could not be shared with them, the decades-long authority and respect commanded by the old lord ensured that the guards obeyed his orders faithfully.
As a result, the frantic citizens, desperate to help extinguish the fire, were stopped at the gates.
They were told that the situation was under control, that the family had sufficient water sources within the keep, and that they should rest easy.
Gradually, the crowd began to disperse, but countless eyes remained fixed on the pillar of smoke rising into the sky. Speculation ran wild—what on earth was the family doing?
Meanwhile, the one person who knew the truth was seated quietly at the base of the stairs leading to the tower's uppermost level.
The old lord had personally brought a chair and placed it there. Beside him rested the ancestral sword of House Manderly.
No one was permitted to pass.
Since the days of Robert's Rebellion, the old man had not drawn this sword in over ten years.
Though it was not a blade forged from Valyrian steel, its mere presence signified the absolute authority of the family. Before this sword, all members of House Manderly were expected to bow their heads.
Many members of the household had come, but when they saw the old lord's resolute expression, they chose to turn back.
Whether they could sleep peacefully tonight was not something Lord Wyman concerned himself with. All his thoughts were on his grandson. That fire above—he could not go to him, no matter how much he wished to.
He had only one duty tonight: to guard this door for his grandson. Whether the family would soar into the skies or not would be decided this very night.
Yet above White Harbor, amid the smoky pillar that pierced the evening sky, something else stirred as well.
"White Harbor. The main keep of House Manderly. The Sea God Tower. A fire ignited at night, cause unknown. However, it appears House Manderly anticipated this event beforehand. The reason behind this is under investigation."
The ink dried quickly. The message was folded neatly and slipped into a raven's scroll case.
"Fly now, little bird. Carry this message to the South."
Someone smiled as they spoke.
Born in fire. Let it burn through the night, for tomorrow—the birth begins.
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[Chapter End's]
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