Tyrosh, the Blacks' eastern stronghold.
Mornings in Tyrosh always came early.
When the first rays of sunlight crossed the sea level to the east and illuminated the bustling free city across the Narrow Sea, the docks were already alive with activity. Fishing boats, merchant vessels, and warships filled the harbor; the shouts of boatmen, the cries of merchants, and the whistles of porters mingled together.
But today's Tyrosh was somewhat different from before.
The most striking thing on the pier was a huge banner fluttering in the wind—the four-pointed banner of the Blacks.
Beneath the banner stood a long table, where several clerks were busy registering names and distributing pay. Before the long table, a lengthy queue stretched all the way to the corner. Because of the war, large numbers of refugees from the Disputed Lands had fled to Tyrosh. And the Blacks were using this opportunity to expand their forces.
"Next!"
A dark-skinned, burly man stepped forward, wearing ragged leather armor with a rusty sword at his belt.
"Name?"
"Vog."
"Ever fought?"
"Fought." The burly man grinned, showing several yellow teeth. "I was a mercenary in Myr for three years. Killed two Volantenes."
The clerk looked up, glanced at him, scratched a few strokes on the parchment, then counted ten silver coins from the pouch beside him and pushed them forward.
"Take it. Go over there to collect your equipment, then report to the barracks. Food and lodging provided. Wait a month for training, then you'll be paid when qualified."
The burly man took the silver coins, held them in his hand, turned, and followed the soldiers away.
The line stepped forward.
"Next!"
Similar scenes were set up at Tyrosh's four city gates, three docks, and two squares. Ever since the Blacks had taken Tyrosh, these recruiters had not been idle. The terms they offered were very tempting: food and lodging, fifteen copper coins a day, plus extra rewards for battle victories. This was excellent for Tyrosh's unemployed stevedores, bankrupt artisans, and war refugees pouring in from all over.
---
In an unremarkable house in the city.
Hugh Hammer sat by the window, toying with an exquisite sword in his hand. The blade featured the unique rippled pattern of Valyrian steel, gleaming with a dim light. The hilt was carved from pyroxene, with golden veins inlaid with white gemstones, and a sapphire the size of an eye at the pommel.
A fine sword.
Hugh admired it in his heart. He had been a blacksmith all his life, had forged countless swords, but had never touched a Valyrian steel blade. This sword was extremely sharp, never rusted—a treasure that all the highborn dreamed of. He had once dreamed of possessing such a one, but it was an unattainable fantasy. The price of a Valyrian steel sword was enough to buy a castle. And in truth, no one would sell such a sword; rather, they would treat it as a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation.
Now the sword was in his hands.
"Master Hugh, what do you think?"
The young man sitting opposite spoke. He had silver hair and purple eyes, wore a black robe typical of Volantene nobility with gold patterns embroidered on the collar, was in his twenties, and had handsome features.
Nafas Lanser. A noble of Volantis's Black Wall, nephew of Eluna Lanser, and secret envoy of Volantis. Heir to House Lanser.
Hugh did not answer, simply continued toying with the sword in his hand. His fingers traced the inscriptions on the blade—they were Valyrian words; he did not know them, but he understood their meaning.
Nafas introduced them.
"This sword is called Awakening..."
"What a fine name—Awakening..." Hugh smiled and looked at the inscription on the sword.
"Master Hugh?" Nafas asked again; the smile on his face remained unchanged, but a hint of impatience flickered in his eyes.
Hugh finally looked up at him.
"Master Nafas," he said slowly. "You are asking who I am now?"
Nafas instinctively answered, "You are a bastard..."
But Nafas caught his slip and quickly changed his expression. "You are Master Hugh Hammer, a hero, a descendant of King Jaehaerys."
"Descendant of King Jaehaerys." Hugh repeated these words; a mocking smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "I am a bastard. A bastard without even a surname. A bastard who has been a blacksmith for more than twenty years, yet could only sleep by a stinking ditch."
Nafas said nothing.
"It was Prince Lucerys who gave me noble status," Hugh continued. "Raised me from a bastard to a knight, made me commander of a castle. He gave me a salary of thirty gold coins a month."
Nafas's smile froze.
"So," Hugh looked at him, "why do you think I would betray him?"
Nafas drew a deep breath and spoke slowly. "Master Hugh, you are a hero. You have the blood of King Jaehaerys in your veins. Are you truly willing to remain an obscure knight for the rest of your life?"
Hugh did not answer.
Nafas continued. "What did Prince Lucerys give you? A knighthood? How much is that worth? Someone like you deserves more. A castle, lands, a surname to pass down to your children and grandchildren. That is what you deserve."
Hugh's fingers tapped lightly on the sword, producing a clear sound.
"This sword is truly priceless. Are you truly willing to give it away?" Hugh looked at Nafas meaningfully.
Nafas replied with a smile. "Master Hugh, in my opinion, a hero like you should wield a Valyrian steel sword that suits your stature..."
At the same time, Nafas's heart bled. This was the Lanser family's ancestral sword—you should know, they only had two Valyrian steel blades. But as long as he succeeded in recruiting this man, the plan would succeed. What did a Valyrian steel sword matter compared to obtaining a dragon?
"You Volantenes," Hugh said, "you speak so well. One clever phrase after another—very pleasing to the ear."
Nafas smiled. "I merely state the facts."
"Facts?" Hugh smiled too. "Then let me tell you the facts."
He laid the Valyrian steel sword on the table and looked directly into Nafas's eyes.
"You Volantenes allied with the Blacks to fight against the Triarchy together. Tyrosh was conquered by the Blacks, Myr by you. But now? Lys is surrounded by you, the Triarchy is dissolved, and you, Volantis, have become the most powerful force on the eastern continent. Do you still need to fear the Blacks?"
Nafas's smile vanished.
"You don't," Hugh spoke for him. "Now what you need is a dragon. A dragon that can help you dominate the entire eastern continent."
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