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Clay had already remained inside the Sea God Tower for six days. There was little he could do about it. Gaelithox had become extremely attached to him, refusing to be apart for long.
Although Gaelithox no longer showed any aversion toward the old man who shared his blood, he would still grow anxious and unsettled whenever Clay was not nearby.
From the moment it hatched, the young creature had displayed an insatiable appetite. Born of fire and blood, it was a magical being whose hunger knew no bounds. Its rate of growth was just as astonishing, increasing by the day as if driven by an unseen force.
Clay remembered well that dragons could grow up to six meters long in the span of a single year. In other words, if all went well, he would be able to ride it into the skies within a year.
At present, however, he still could not leave the Sea God Tower. The old man had already gone in early to tidy up, and only then had people been allowed to arrange the top floor. Apparently, no one suspected that Clay had been the leading figure in that fiery spectacle a few nights ago.
The problem, however, lay in his hair. It had been completely burned away by the flames. While his body could withstand the searing heat, the relatively delicate hair had not been so fortunate.
If he were to step outside now, his bald head would draw immediate attention. Beneath the gaze of the public, it would be difficult for anyone not to associate him with the inferno that lit up that night sky.
Though no one could possibly imagine that Clay had already hatched the first dragon seen in Westeros in centuries, even rumors and whispered speculation could bring him unwanted trouble.
For that reason, Clay had decided to remain hidden in the study atop the Sea God Tower, waiting until the time came for him to depart for the Three Sisters.
He had anticipated a long and perhaps agonizing wait. Yet, everything had gone far more smoothly than he had imagined.
Now, standing on the outer balcony, Clay gazed into the sky at the crimson comet. This celestial omen, originally heralding Daenerys Targaryen's rise, had now become a harbinger for him instead.
The dragons had returned. The glass candles of the Citadel were burning once again. And the stagnant tide of magic had begun to rise across the world.
Clay understood the significance hidden beneath these changes.
He could not help but wonder—when had Daenerys managed to hatch her three dragons?
One versus three. If their sizes were similar, he might be at a disadvantage.
But Clay had his own methods.
In his magical vision, Gaelithox appeared as a blazing mass of fire, its form pulsing with energy. Carefully adjusting the flow of his mana, Clay invoked Igni, the fire sign, and let its warmth gently wash over the creature's body like a caress.
He could feel it—magic was coursing steadily through the dragon's growing frame, weaving itself into its very bones and sinew. Clay could not say with certainty how fast dragons were meant to grow, but after just six days, Gaelithox's once-scrawny figure had grown visibly fuller. When it curled around his neck now, Clay could clearly feel its increased weight and strength.
The difference was undeniable. Its weight had risen by at least ten percent. After days of handling it like a housecat—lifting it, setting it down, cradling it in his arms—Clay had developed a sharp awareness of its physical changes.
Clay did not speak High Valyrian, but he certainly remembered that iconic word, "Dracarys"—dragonfire. This morning, instead of preparing the usual slices of cooked beef, he laid out a raw cut of meat for Gaelithox.
The dragon sniffed it, gave a disdainful snort, and turned away. In that moment, Clay seemed to catch a flicker of the dragon's thoughts.
Roughly translated, it would have been something along the lines of, "Is this truly worthy of a dragon?"
There was no other way around it. Clay mimed the spell repeatedly, chanting dracarys again and again. After some time, Gaelithox finally understood what its master wanted.
And so, for the very first time, Clay witnessed true dragonfire bloom on the balcony.
Though small, Gaelithox's flames were already intense. The bloodied beef began to sizzle and blacken under the heat, transforming before his eyes.
Under the not-so-skilled cooking efforts of Gaelithox, a blackened piece of steak was finally done.
The appearance, admittedly, left much to be desired.
Nonetheless, Gaelithox gobbled up its creation without hesitation. Its tiny belly seemed like a bottomless pit—it would eat whatever it was given and rarely showed signs of fullness.
That, in itself, was a good thing. With the aid of Clay's magic and a steady supply of food, perhaps the dragon could grow even faster.
Suddenly, the bell at the harbor rang out, interrupting Clay's thoughts. He turned his gaze away from the crimson comet and toward the source of the sound.
Without him realizing it, a vast number of sails had appeared upon the sea, filling the horizon. Upon the towering masts fluttered flags bearing the trident and merman sigil—clear and unmistakable.
The fleet had returned!
Two days prior, Clay and the old man had received a raven from Wendel, sent from the lord's tower on the Three Sisters.
The White Harbor fleet had utterly crushed all maritime forces on the islands, including all pirate ships bearing no house sigils.
Triston Sunderland, the ruler of the Three Sisters, had been taken prisoner by White Harbor's navy. The army was now sweeping through the islands, rooting out any remaining pirates.
Lord Wyman had issued an order of total extermination. Therefore, Wendel had shown no mercy. For pirates who had pillaged the seas for years, White Harbor's soldiers offered no kindness.
Any man identified as a pirate was either hanged or cut down on the spot. As for women and children—if any dared raise a blade against the soldiers, they were killed without hesitation.
It may sound brutal and bloody, but in truth, the Northmen had lost far more lives at the hands of these pirates than the other way around.
And truthfully, these people did not deserve pity. As the saying goes: only overwhelming violence can put an end to violence. If one wished to take the path of mercy, then Clay had only one choice—to raise his dragon swiftly and bring the Seven Kingdoms to heel, ending bloodshed through dominance.
The longer the war dragged on, the more lives would be lost. Killing a handful of pirates, whose hands were already stained with countless innocent lives, did not burden Clay's conscience in the slightest.
Every throne is built atop piles of corpses and rivers of blood. It was the same everywhere.
Now, with White Harbor's victorious fleet returning, it signaled one thing: the initial phase of the purge had been completed. The remaining population would soon be relocated by ship under the supervision of House Manderly, and their place would be taken by loyal soldiers and settlers.
Since they had chosen to wage this war, House Manderly had to claim this land as their own. Without doing so, the entire conflict would hold no meaning.
Clay understood that the time had come for him to leave the Sea God Tower.
After carefully calming Gaelithox, he placed the dragon inside a large wooden chest and cast an Axii Sign on it to keep it quiet. Then, under the protection of his most loyal witcher guards and with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face, he quietly slipped out of the tower.
Before boarding the ship, Clay took the time to understand the situation on the Three Sisters.
The islands had held a population of nearly ten thousand. In the first battle, three hundred were killed. During the subsequent sweeps, hundreds more died. The remaining eight thousand were gathered and prepared for relocation.
Wendel had managed to secure four ships for this batch, transporting eight hundred people back to White Harbor. The old man, having already made the necessary preparations, received them without delay. The men would be sent to work in the mines, while the women and children would be separated and relocated to villages that had been designated in advance.
If this were a strategy game, White Harbor's stability would certainly take a hit. However, its population and birthrate would experience a marked increase.
Unaware that his son had already boarded the ship heading back to the Three Sisters, the straightforward Wendel cheerfully went to report the victory to his father. He failed to notice the deep worry in the old man's eyes as he stared at the departing sails.
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[Chapter End's]
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