Ned was busy. The Small Council meetings were getting longer, and the lines on his face deeper. He spent his hours arguing over coin and tournaments with men who viewed honesty as a disability. I couldn't sit in those chairs, and speak in his defense, so I spent my time learning the anatomy of the Red Keep.
The castle was a mess of secrets. Maegor the Cruel had built it with the intent of being the only person who knew all the exits, and while he was long dead, the walls hadn't forgotten the paths.
I found the first entrance behind a heavy, moth-eaten wall hanging in the library. It wasn't a grand door, just a narrow gap in the masonry that smelled really bad. I was small enough to slip through without disturbing the hanging.
Inside, the world narrowed.
The tunnels were cramped, designed for rat spies, but for a Growlithe, they were perfect. I didn't need a torch. My vision was adapted for the dark, and my [Detection] acted like a sonar, mapping the heartbeats above and below me. I moved silently, my claws retracted as I padded through the dust of centuries.
I wasn't exploring for the sake of it. I needed an exit strategy. In the movies, the heroes always had a "plan B." Here, Plan A was Ned's honor, which was a death sentence. Plan B had to be a way out that didn't involve the main gates.
As I pushed deeper and lower, the air changed. The rot of the city faded, replaced by a dry, manageable heat that seemed to radiate from the very foundations of the hill.
I turned a final corner and the tunnel opened into a massive, cavernous space.
It was the basement where Robert had stowed the Targaryen trophies. The Dragon Skulls. They were everywhere, some no larger than a hound's head, others massive enough to swallow a horse whole. Even in the dim light filtering from the vents above, they looked majestic.
I walked toward the largest one, Balerion the Black Dread. The skull was a mountain of black bone, the empty eye sockets wider than I was tall. I sat in the shadow of its jaw, my fur prickling.
The heat here was intense. This part of the castle sat near the old forge areas and the volcanic vents of Aegon's High Hill. I moved toward a corner of the chamber where the stone floor was cracked, exposing the dark, jagged bedrock beneath the masonry.
Something caught the light.
I nudged a pile of rubble with my nose. Beneath the dust lay a fragment of glass. Black, razor-sharp, and cold to the touch. But as I nudged it, I felt a faint rush in my chest.
Dragonglass.
In this world, it was just volcanic glass. To my system, it was a data point. I picked it up, the sharp edge drawing a tiny bead of blood from my lip, and felt the heat of my Incinerate flare in response. It wasn't a Fire Stone, but it was a part of the same logic. Volcanic energy frozen in stone.
I looked around. There were more fragments scattered near the base of the walls, likely cast aside during the construction of the vaults or the moving of the skulls.
I couldn't carry them all. I didn't have pockets, and my mouth could only hold so much before I risked swallowing a shard. Common sense dictated a cache. I found a hollow space behind the vertebrae of a medium-sized dragon skull, a safe corner where the "little birds" wouldn't think to look.
I spent the next hour gathering the fragments I could find. It was a tedious process, picking up one or two pieces at a time and dragging them back to my hiding spot. By the time I finished, I had a small, shimmering pile of black glass.
It wasn't enough to trigger an evolution. I needed something larger, purer. A piece of true Dragonstone. But this was a start. It was a battery for my fire, a way to ignite the fire.
I sat back, my breathing echoing in the silent chamber. Up above, Ned was likely discussing the debt to the Lannisters or the upcoming tournament. He was surrounded, but I was down here in the dark, surrounded by the ghosts of dragons instead.
Then the system flickered, the blue light reflecting off the black glass.
[Fire Potency: +2%]
[Status: Building Dragonstone Cache]
I looked up at the massive jaw of Balerion. The Targaryens thought they were the only ones who could control the fire. They were wrong.
I turned and headed back toward the tunnel entrance. I have my plan and a pile of obsidian in the dark. I wasn't just a dog in a palace anymore. I was a saboteur with a hoard.
I just had to hope I had enough time to use it.