Chapter 9 — "Children of the Storm"
(Year 288 AD — Storm's End)
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I. A Giant Among Men
The sea wind battered the walls of Storm's End with force, carrying with it the smell of salt, tar, and iron. The sound was familiar, almost comforting, but for Ronnel Storm, it was no longer enough.
Three years had passed since the end of the rebellion, and in that time, Ronnel had changed. At 10 years old and 1.77 meters tall, his presence was impossible to ignore. His body, trained with almost inhuman discipline, was agile and powerful. His intense blue gaze seemed to penetrate the secrets of anyone who dared to look at it.
But it wasn't just his physical appearance. His mind had evolved just as rapidly. He had devoured every book in the library, learned history, politics, trade, military strategy, and mastered six languages. His warg mastery allowed him to control entire networks of ravens and hawks, and his Valyrian blood awakened more with each year, granting him resistance to fire, subtle control over flames, and an impossible-to-hide magnetism.
The people adored him. The soldiers respected him. Some feared him.
But Ronnel… Ronnel felt trapped.
"There's nothing more to learn here."
---
That afternoon, in the maester's tower, Ronnel was reviewing a map of Essos when Cressen entered, holding a cup of wine. The old man regarded him silently for a moment before speaking.
"Are you growing weary of the castle, boy?"
Ronnel didn't look up.
"I grow weary of the walls, maester." He gestured to the map. "Out here are cities that never sleep, ancient empires, riches beyond what anyone in Westeros could imagine. And I... I'm stuck watching the rafters of the Hold rot."
Cressen sighed.
"You're still young, Ronnel. Many men would give anything to have a roof over their heads, a name, and a place."
"I'm not 'many men.'"
The maester studied him closely. In those blue eyes, he saw ambition, but also a deep, almost painful longing.
"And what are you looking for out there, bastard? Glory? Wealth? Or freedom?"
Ronnel blushes slightly.
"All that... and more."
---
Later, on the parade ground, Renly caught up with him while Ronnel was practicing sword movements with his eyes closed, using the transparent world.
"They say no one can beat you anymore," Renly commented, crossing his arms.
"They say that because it's true."
Renly snorted, amused.
"You're unbearable."
Ronnel opened one eye.
"And yet you come to me every time you need advice."
Renly frowned, but didn't deny it. Their relationship had changed. Renly no longer saw him as a rival, but as someone to aspire to. And while Ronnel still found Renly spoiled, he was beginning to see him as a potential ally.
For his part, Stannis watched him from the shadows. Privately, he had said to Cressen,
"That boy... he'll be a problem someday."
"Or a solution," the maester replied.
---
He frowned, but didn't deny it. Their relationship had changed. Renly no longer saw him as a rival, but as someone to aspire to. And while Ronnel still found Renly spoiled, he was beginning to see him as a potential ally.
For his part, Stannis watched him from the shadows. Privately, he had said to Cressen,
"That boy... he'll be a problem someday."
"Or a solution," the maester replied.
---
Ronnel had been preparing his departure for months. He had made contacts at the port, bought contraband maps, memorized trade routes, and learned about the merchant houses of Essos.
He spent his nights listening to tales of navigators and mercenaries, and little by little, he began recruiting.
Among them:
Lyanna "Lya" Waters—a cunning, daring, half-breed thief.
Ser Gareth Morr, an exiled knight with a reputation as a swordsman.
Kael Dravven, a Lysene navigator with a talent for reading the currents.
Sariah, an archer from the Summer Isles, deadly with a bow and connoisseur of poisons.
Tymor, a young apprentice alchemist with strange knowledge of fire and metals.
Each had their reasons for joining. None owed him blind loyalty… yet. But Ronnel knew that loyalty is forged with purpose.
---
The night before they left, Ronnel climbed the highest wall. The sea roared beneath their feet.
Noctis perched on his shoulder, croaking softly.
"I know," Ronnel murmured. "There's no going back."
He felt a mixture of excitement and nostalgia. Bastion had been his home, but also his prison. Leaving it behind hurt… though not as much as staying.
At dawn, he set off on a small, black-sailed ship, accompanied by his new crew. No ceremony, no public farewell. Just the sound of the sea and a silent oath:
"I will return… but not as just another bastard. I will return with a name that will make kings tremble."
---
The first days at sea were a mix of freedom and danger. Ronnel spent hours mapping routes, training the crew, and listening to rumors from the traders: sunken treasure, secret cities, forbidden routes that could make them rich or kill them.
At night, on deck, he watched the fire dance in the palm of his hand. His control had grown: he could shape the flames as if they were extensions of his will.
And in the stillness of the ocean, Ronnel Storm realized that his true story was just beginning.
---
Year 288 AD
Dawn lit the waters, and the Narrow Sea looked like a liquid mirror reflecting the golden sky. Ronnel's ship, The Noctis, moved forward steadily with the wind at his back. The vessel wasn't large, but it had been modified with hull reinforcements, heavy-duty sails, and hidden compartments for special cargo.
Ronnel Storm, leaning on the prow, squinted at the horizon. At 10 years old and 1.77 meters tall, he looked like a young adult warrior, but his features still retained the softness of childhood. His raven, Noctis, cawed on his shoulder, and Ronnel stroked its black plumage.
"A new board, new pieces."
"Captain," called Kael Dravven, the Lysene navigator. "If we maintain this course, we should reach Gulltown in three days. From there, the Reach will be a two-day journey."
Ronnel nodded, still staring out to sea.
"Perfect. Before we arrive, I want us to have everything ready. Lya, make sure the weapons are working properly. Sariah, check our supplies of arrows and poisons. Tymor, check the experimental gunpowder... and don't blow up the deck again."
The soot-stained young alchemist timidly raised a hand.
"It was just a small burst," he murmured, looking down.
Laughter rippled across the deck.
---
For the next few hours, the ship was bustling with life. The crew was unusual: each member had different skills and backgrounds, leading to constant clashes.
. Lya and Sariah
On the rear deck, Lya Waters—the half-breed thief—sharpened two daggers while Sariah, the Summer Isles archer, strung her bow.
"If there are tournaments in the Reach, why don't we both compete?" Lya suggested, smiling mischievously.
"Because I don't need to prove anything," Sariah replied without taking her eyes off the target. "My aim speaks for itself."
"Uh, what about the fun?"
Ronnel, who was watching them from afar, chimed in:
"Compete if you want. If you win, we'll increase our prestige. If you lose…" she smiled, "…we'll gain experience."
Lya snorted.
—Easy to talk for someone who knows no one can beat him.
Tymor and Kael
In the hold, Tymor worked over a bubbling mixture while Kael watched him suspiciously.
"If that thing explodes, lad, you'll sink us before we even reach port."
"It won't explode... probably." Tymor smiled nervously. "But if it works, we'll have an advantage no other ship in the Narrow Sea has."
Kael sighed.
"I trust you less than the wind, but if you survive... it will be interesting."
---
That evening, gathered in the small map room, Ronnel explained his plan. On the table were scrolls, diagrams, and illegal documents he had obtained through connections at the port.
"The Basin is a strategic point. There are tournaments every year, but it's not the gold prize that matters; it's the people." He pointed at the map. "Lesser nobles seeking patronage, merchants desperate for partners, smugglers with secret routes... if we play our cards right, we'll get all that and more."
Gareth Morr, the exiled knight, laced his fingers.
"You want to recruit in the middle of a greed fair. Isn't that dangerous?"
"Everything worthwhile is dangerous," Ronnel replied calmly. "We're not mere pirates. We'll build something bigger... a trading empire."
Sariah smiled wryly.
"A ten-year-old talking about empires. If you hadn't already defeated twenty men in the courtyard, I'd think you were mad."
Ronnel stared at her.
"Madness and greatness often go hand in hand."
---
Two days later, they sighted the port city of Gulltown. Whitewashed houses climbed the hill, the docks were crowded with merchant ships, and the smell of fish and tar permeated the air.
While the crew secured the ship, Ronnel walked among the docks, observing carefully. There were merchants from Myr, Pentos, and Braavos, smugglers with shrewd eyes, and bards announcing the upcoming tourney.
In a nearby tavern, he overheard conversations that confirmed his suspicions:
Nobles came from all over the Vale to gamble and recruit champions.
Merchants from Braavos seeking partners for exclusive routes.
Lysene smugglers offering "discreet services" to those who knew how to pay.
"The board is full of pieces... you just have to move them."
---
That night, in the same tavern, a group of armed men mocked Ronnel's crew. One of them, a scarred mercenary swordsman, came too close.
"Nice bird of yours, kid," he said, pointing at Noctis. "I bet it would be nicely roasted."
Ronnel stared at him, activating the transparent world. He saw the weight of his steps, the tension in his shoulders, the direction of his breathing.
"Touch my raven and I won't leave you a hand to hold your sword." That same night, in the same tavern, a group of armed men mocked Ronnel's crew. One of them, a scarred mercenary swordsman, came too close.
"Nice bird of yours, kid," he said, pointing at Noctis. "I bet it would be nicely roasted."
Ronnel stared at him, activating the transparent world. He saw the weight of her steps, the tension in her shoulders, the direction of her breathing.
"Touch me, and I won't leave you a hand to hold your sword."
Silence fell over the tavern. The man tried to laugh… until Lya put a dagger to his side and Sariah aimed an arrow at his neck.
"I'd listen to the boy if I were you," Lya whispered.
The market receded. The crew's reputation began to grow before they even reached the Reach.
---
On the way to the Reach, Ronnel spent his nights on deck, making plans. There was much to do:
Participate in tournaments to gain prestige.
Trade with foreign merchants.
Recruit skilled warriors and navigators.
Create a secret trade network that would allow him to sell goods impossible to obtain in Westeros.
"If I want an empire, I must start with a name that inspires respect… or fear."
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