Tap, tap.
Faint footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the door. A figure approached the door of a spacious bedroom located on the second floor of the tower.
The bedroom door was ajar, and a faint candlelight could be seen emanating from within. A small figure sat at the round table in the middle of the room, his hand propping up his cheek. Silver hair enveloped his ears. The flickering candlelight was reflected in his gem-like, violet eyes.
He was Viserys Targaryen, the second son of His Majesty Aerys II, and only seven years old.
Recently, Viserys, who was usually very active, had been inexplicably staring at the candlelight and, contrary to his usual habits, had shut himself in his room to read books that he used to loathe.
This situation had been going on for several days.
The wrinkles on the old maidservant's face deepened slightly as she stood outside the bedroom door, and a look of worry flickered in her dim, yellow eyes.
As an old servant who had served the Targaryen royal family for generations, she was very worried that Viserys might develop mental issues like his father, the "Mad King."
After all, "Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin, and the world holds its breath to see which side it lands on."
However, the old maid's gaze didn't rouse Viserys, who was lost in thought. Half of his girlishly handsome face was immersed in shadow. He was dressed in the prince's opulent attire, one hand resting on a thick parchment book, pondering his past and present lives.
"Your Grace."
The old maid, supporting herself on the door frame, knocked twice and spoke softly. Her voice was not loud, but it sounded exceptionally clear within the quiet Maegor's Holdfast.
The Targaryen prince shuddered as if startled, like a frightened bird, and suddenly awoke. His shallow purple eyes looked at the maid standing in the doorway with a hint of panic.
He paused for a second.
Then he remembered that he was indeed 'Your Grace'. After all, there was no one else in this bedroom. And according to the chaotic memories in his mind, this old maid seemed to be called… Sophia.
"What is it?"
Viserys saw the old maid and shook his head slightly, casting aside the chaotic thoughts in his mind. He looked at her seriously.
"Her Majesty the Queen wishes to see you."
The maid, dressed in a dark servant's uniform and with a gray headscarf, saw the prince awake and the wrinkles on her forehead eased slightly before she spoke.
"Mother?"
Viserys faltered slightly, his heart skipping a beat, but he composed himself, closed the parchment book in his hand, and slid off the chair.
According to the chaotic memories in his mind, his mother, whose name was Rhaella Targaryen, seemed to be a kind and gentle woman who was constantly trying to protect Viserys from the harm of his mentally unstable father.
However, Viserys had been trying his best to avoid seeing his mother. After all, a mother was the closest person to him, and he was afraid of revealing some flaw.
So, he had been shut up in his bedroom, reading books. On the one hand, he sought to gain more knowledge, and on the other, he was avoiding meeting Rhaella.
But he hadn't expected his mother to suddenly seek him out at this moment.
"I understand."
Viserys's small face was slightly tense, trying to appear calm. In fact, his acting skills were impeccable; almost no one could see through him. Even if they did, a seven-year-old boy wouldn't be suspected of anything untoward.
Then, Viserys stood in front of the silver mirror in his bedroom, with a maid standing behind him, tidying his clothes.
Meeting the Queen required proper etiquette, even if Viserys was her biological son. The customs of nobility and the court were almost etched into Viserys's memory, even his muscles.
Viserys glanced at the maid behind him arranging his clothes, found everything in order, and then withdrew his gaze, looking at the silver mirror in front of him.
A cloud of black mist gradually spread out.
[Viserys Targaryen] Strength: 3 Constitution: 5 Agility: 8 Spirit: 18
These words were all displayed in archaic High Valyrian.
As survivors of the Valyrian civilization, the Targaryen family's native tongue wasn't actually the common tongue of Westeros, but rather High Valyrian.
Every Targaryen child received instruction in both High Valyrian and the Dragon Language during their childhood.
These attributes – Strength, Agility, Physique, and Spirit – were the meanings translated into the common tongue of Westeros. In High Valyrian, they were rendered as Sun, Soil, Droplet, and Moon.
But now…
Everything was normal.
Viserys wasn't surprised at all, as he'd discovered this mass of black mist several days ago.
Whenever he gazed at any reflective object for three seconds, this dense black mist would appear.
Of course, he'd experimented with more items. Mirrors, glass, gems, and even daggers could all produce it, but dull stones and wooden tables were unaffected.
He'd also tested repeatedly that others couldn't see this black mist; only he was a special case. Just like this world, filled with mysterious power, it was full of the indescribable.
"Could this be some sort of magic?"
Viserys was puzzled. He'd been poring over books for days but couldn't find an answer.
He was also gradually figuring out the meaning of these complex terms, and had annotated them in the Common Tongue.
They reflected Viserys's current physical condition.
The sun represented strength.
The earth represented robustness, meaning physique.
Water was soft and gentle, representing his agility and flexibility.
The moon represented his will, or perhaps a more mysterious spiritual power.
A normal adult male's stats should be between 10 and 12. Of course, he didn't rule out the possibility of someone stronger.
"Spirit: 18."
Viserys Targaryen stared at the silver mirror, blinking slowly.
This was far beyond the capabilities of an ordinary person. It was probably connected to his own unique circumstances; perhaps he was a one-of-a-kind being in this world.
However, his extremely strong spirit did give Viserys some advantages. His memory was exceptionally good.
In the past few days, he had been hiding in his bedroom, reading books. He wouldn't say he had a photographic memory, but after reading things twice, he remembered them deeply.
And he didn't feel tired, even if he stayed up very late.
"Does Your Highness have something on his mind?"
The old maidservant, who was tidying Viserys's clothes, had been observing the Targaryen prince's expression. She saw the boy's pale violet eyes become strangely unfocused as he gazed at the silver mirror, as if losing his train of thought.
Then, he pursed his lips, appearing deep in thought.
"No."
"Thank you for your concern, Sophia."
Viserys, hearing the old maidservant's words, shook his head slightly and spoke.
"It seems this is the first time Your Grace has thanked me."
The old woman, her head wrapped in a turban, covered her mouth slightly, looking surprised. Viserys's expression stiffened for a moment, and he opened his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words.
Silence fell over the prince's bedroom.
After a moment of silence, Viserys composed himself and broke the stillness, the old maidservant having just finished adjusting his clothes.
"So... did Mother say why she wanted to see me?"
Viserys asked casually, but with a hint of inquiry.
The old maidservant hesitated. She knew the reason, of course. The news of the Targaryen royal army's defeat and the death of Rhaegar had already spread throughout the Red Keep, and even all of King's Landing was in a state of panic.
If things went as expected, the boy before her would one day become Viserys Targaryen III.
However…
All of this depended on the Targaryens still holding the Iron Throne; otherwise, the fate awaiting Viserys would be exceedingly cruel.
Viserys looked at the old maidservant expectantly, hoping to glean some information from her.
But in the end, Viserys only found disappointment.
The old maidservant, her headscarf gray, sighed, her wrinkles deepening, and then shook her head calmly.
"No."