Chapter 13: Iron Dreams
Qarth's library glowed under flickering torchlight, its towering shelves heavy with scrolls and tomes, their parchment yellowed, the air thick with dust, ink, and the musky scent of old leather, the city outside hushed under a starry sky. Adam Stiels slouched against a marble column, its surface cool, his black cloak loose, his hazel eyes scanning a frayed Westerosi map, its ink faded but marking the Iron Islands' jagged cliffs. His HUD glowed: [SYSTEM: LEVEL 2, 8/1,000 USES, 9-MINUTE COOLDOWN.] His smirk was sharp, his fingers tracing the map, his boots scuffing the tiled floor, the air cool with night's breath. Iron Islands school, my ticket to a lazy life, he thought, his cloak brushing the column, his sword hilt steady, the library's silence heavy with possibility.
Qartheen assassins, hired by warlock remnants, ambushed the returning Iron Islands scouts in the library's shadowed aisles, their daggers glinting, their footsteps silent. Adam snapped his fingers, casting Quen, a golden shield flaring around the scouts, deflecting a blade, the assassin's curse sharp, his cloak tearing as he fled. [SYSTEM: QUEN, 1 MINUTE, 9/1,000 USES.] The scouts delivered their report—a cliffside fortress, defensible for a Witcher school—Adam grinning, tossing a coin, its silver flashing. "Nice work, team. We're building a resort." He met Daenerys in the library, her silver hair catching torchlight, her violet eyes curious, her voice firm. "A school, Adam? It's ambitious." He winked, leaning closer, his tone playful. "Iron Islands getaway, Dany? I'm sold."
At a Qartheen feast, its tables laden with roasted peacock and honeyed figs, Adam pranked Jorah, casting Axii to make him recite love poetry, his voice gruff, Qartheen nobles chuckling, their silks rustling. [SYSTEM: AXII (ENHANCED), 30 SECONDS, 10/1,000 USES.] "Poetry, Ser Frowns? You're stealing my show," Adam said, Jorah's glare sharp, his goblet trembling, his armor creaking. Adam played Gwent with Tomas in a library alcove, his Vesemir card outwitting Tomas' Skellige deck, winning a Lambert card, its edges glowing faintly. [SYSTEM: GWENT WIN, LAMBERT CARD, 8/10 MATCHES.] "Tough luck, money-maker," Adam teased, Tomas' laugh warm, his silver sword gleaming, his leather creaking.
Adam crafted a Swallow potion, mixing lotus root and myrrh, its glow faint, sharing it with Lyra, her grin wide as she sipped, her eyes bright with trust. [SYSTEM: ALCHEMY, SWALLOW CRAFTED, 1/5 POTIONS.] He flirted with Daenerys over spiced wine, its flavors sharp, joking about Iron Islands vacations, her violet eyes sparkling, her hand brushing his, warm and fleeting. "You'll love the sea breeze, Khaleesi," he said, her laugh soft, the torchlight warm. He explored the library, finding maps of the Stormlands and Vale, their ink smudged, his HUD pinging: [SYSTEM: WESTEROS DATA LOGGED.] He bantered with a Qartheen scholar, dodging political questions: "Just a bookworm, friend. Got a travel guide for Pyke?" The scholar's nod was wary, his robes rustling, his quill scratching.
Adam taught Lyra a Yrden trick, a glowing glyph pulsing on the floor, her eyes focused, her leather creaking. "For wights, kid, traps are key," he said, the library's air heavy with dust. He planned a group prank with Tomas, targeting a Qartheen noble, plotting to use Axii to make him gift a jeweled ring to a servant, Tomas' smirk mischievous. Adam scouted Qarth's outskirts, the air cool with night, assessing travel routes to Westeros, his HUD updating: [SYSTEM: ROUTES LOGGED.] Pacing the library, he reflected on White Walkers, Silver swords and Yrden for the undead party, his HUD warning: [SYSTEM: WINTER'S COMING.]
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