Atop Vermithor, Baelon gazed down at the lands stretching endlessly beneath him, his cloak snapping in the wind.
A week had passed since he and Helaena had departed Sallosh, their journey taking them ever eastward toward Asshai.
Yet even he was beginning to tire of the jagged, shadowed mountains and the rolling darkness that seemed to stretch on without end.
"How much longer until we get there?" Helaena's soft shout broke his reverie as she rode Dreamfyre beside him.
"Not long…" Baelon replied, though uncertainty filled his words as he thought of their destination.
Asshai.
Tales whispered through Essos painted it as a place where shadowbinders wove their dark magics, alchemists stirred cauldrons of impossible potions, and warlocks whispered secrets older than most kingdoms.
Baelon had gleaned what he could during his frequent visits to Qohor over the past year, whilst commissioning armour for himself and Helaena.
From those snippets, he learned that Asshai was not impossible to reach, nor to depart from.
However, most took the sea route and entered via the Jade Sea, as the shadowlands were a perilous place to travel otherwise.
Luckily for them, they had dragons.
They could cross the shadowlands without much fear as long as they stuck to the sky. Though Baelon was confident they would probably be fine even if they walked on foot.
A sudden cry from Helaena snapped him from his thoughts. "Over there!"
Following her gaze, Baelon's eyes fell on the monolith of a city below them.
It was a city so immense it dwarfed King's Landing, like a city to a small town.
Its walls and towers appeared constructed of a black, lustrous stone that drank in every ray of sunlight, leaving the city bathed in perpetual gloom.
"Tegot!" Land!
Baelon commanded, and Vermithor banked sharply, descending toward a mountain that loomed over the city.
As they got off their dragons, Helaena's eyes glimmered with awe, the dim light of Asshai reflected in them.
"This is Asshai…?" She murmured.
Baelon hummed. "In the flesh… or stone, perhaps."
Helaena responded with a playful poke to his arm, and he allowed a faint smile to pass over his face.
"Best to leave these three here," he said, gesturing toward the massive dragons that accompanied them.
Over the months they had spent in Essos, the creatures had grown with startling speed.
Dreamfyre, long imprisoned in the pits, had finally begun to stretch into her full form.
Vermithor, too, had grown; however, this was less reasonable.
Whilst he was not exactly the size of Vhagar, he was well on his way to besting the matriarch of Targaryen dragons in size within the coming years.
Silverwing, by contrast, remained unaffected, her growth far less exaggerated.
The lessons from the Dragons' Anatomy book he had retrieved in Sallosh came to mind: dragons confined to closed spaces often experienced stunted growth, delayed by the lack of freedom to stretch their bodies and wings.
Dreamfyre's prolonged imprisonment had confirmed this, but it could not explain Vermithor. After all, both Vermithor and Silverwing were free dragons on Dragonstone, with little confinement.
However, Baelon could guess this was something to do with the Blood Bond. Whether this effect was unknown to the Valyrians or perhaps this was a special case, Baelon did not know.
Despite this, he could not allow his dragons to suffer for his ambition.
He had to find some information about this in Valyria, to ensure neither dragon had any big problems.
After all, it was he who had chosen to perform the untested ritual, not them. They owed him nothing, yet he owed them everything.
"Why?" Helaena furrowed her brows, confusion knitting her features. "Would it not be safer to bring them with us?"
Baelon did not answer immediately. He simply regarded his sister with a piercing gaze, one that made her instinctively shrink back.
"What are you staring at me for?" She asked, looking back at him in confusion.
"Helaena…" Baelon finally spoke, exasperation threading his tone. "You…have also performed the Blood Bond. You should know just how strong we are. My striving to become stronger isn't about competing with other humans; it is preparation. For Valyria. For the ruins and the monsters that might still linger there: Firewyrms, rogue dragons…things far beyond what ordinary men can face."
He paused before continuing. "The threat from other humans, at our current strength? Practically negligible. Our pyromancy already places us at the pinnacle of mortal magic. Our bodies…our physical prowess…we are unrivalled among our peers."
Finishing his thought, he allowed a small, almost amused chuckle to escape. "So tell me, Helaena, between us and some shadowbinder or mage seeking harm, who is truly in danger?"
Helaena tilted her head, considering him, then gave a reluctant nod. "Point taken."
She turned away, pretending not to notice the triumphant gleam in his eyes.
"Another worry is that it is rumoured animals cannot survive in Asshai for long. Whilst I doubt it would affect our dragons, there is little need to risk it." Baelon shrugged lightly. "And even if the city itself tried to overwhelm us, we can buy ourselves enough time for the dragons to arrive."
He glanced at Vermithor, running a hand along his scaled neck, a silent reassurance for his favourite arsonist.
With that, the siblings began their descent down the mountain.
They moved less like humans and more like humanoid dragons, leaping over chasms that would otherwise swallow a horse or vaulting over outcrops twice a man in size.
Their bodies did not seem to understand the words fatigue or injury.
As they neared the city, Baelon finally took in the true magnitude of Asshai's defences. The walls towered above him, a nightmare in both scale and temperament.
They were higher than the walls of King's Landing, dwarfing even the fortifications of Sallosh in its prime, and far taller than those of Qohor.
Only perhaps the stark, impossibly high Wall of the North could rival such a monstrosity.
And, just like the rest of the city, the stones from which the wall was made seemed to devour the light that shone onto it.
With their hoods drawn low, Baelon and Helaena came to a halt before what Baelon could only assume was a gate.
It loomed wide and tall, made of the same slimy black stone as the rest of the city, yet it stood strangely unmanned.
No guards. No torches. Just an unsettling silence.
"Do not be surprised," a low voice said from the shadows ahead. "Those who seek Asshai shall always reach Asshai."
Both siblings stiffened.
Baelon's hand drifted instinctively toward the sword sheathed by his side as his gaze locked onto where the voice had come from.
Then, from the gloom of the city wall, emerged a lone figure like a spectre. It was a man clad in dark robes, his face concealed behind a red-lacquered mask. Only his eyes were visible.
Milky white. Pupil-less.
The man inclined his head in a shallow bow, seemingly unbothered by their scrutiny. "My name is Seryon," he said evenly. "A shadowbinder of Asshai."
"Were you waiting for us?" Baelon asked, a peculiar look in his gaze as he stared at Seryon.
To not only predict their arrival, but also arrive unnoticed...
It seems he had slightly underestimated the methods of shadowbinders in Asshai.
Seryon straightened. "In a manner of speaking. I dabble in prophecy, and I foresaw your arrival."
His voice carried no pride…if anything, it sounded weary. "It appears fate has seen fit to grant me the privilege of guiding you during your stay."
Neither Baelon nor Helaena replied.
After a brief pause, Seryon continued, as though accustomed to silence. "You need not fear me. The scent of ash and fire clings to you both. Powerful though shadowbinding may be, I do not delude myself into believing I could contend with fire made flesh." He gave a small shake of his head. "I have not come to bar your path. Only to guide you."
A heavy silence settled between them.
It was Helaena who finally spoke. "And how, exactly, would you guide us?"
Seryon lifted his hands in a small, helpless gesture. "That depends on your purpose in coming here."
Baelon scoffed softly. "I thought you could see the future."
"I see paths," Seryon replied without offence. "Not intentions."
Baelon said nothing, but his mind was already racing.
He foresaw our arrival, but not our aim?
A curious limitation. Curiously imperfect. Almost as imperfect as their own Dragon dreams, which often showed them meaningless scenes from long-gone eras or eras that would never come to be.
Still, Baelon felt no immediate threat from the man.
He had prepared well. Beneath his cloak lay Qohori steel armour. Pyromancy was practised to mastery during his time in Sallosh. And beyond the city walls, three adult dragons coiled in wait.
"We seek knowledge," Baelon said at last. "Knowledge of Old Valyria. And of Blood and Black magic, to better understand them. How to counter them."
As his words fell, Baelon swore for the briefest heartbeat, Seryon's composure fractured.
Those white, unseeing eyes flickered with an emotion something they should not have even been capable of conveying. Fear. Dread.
It was gone almost at once, buried beneath layers of discipline and practised calm. But Baelon had seen it.
Seryon lowered his head slightly.
"Valyria," he repeated, quietly, ignoring the latter parts of Baelon's request.
"Few who seek to understand it arrive here unchanged," he said after a moment. "Fewer leave those ruins still."
Baelon narrowed his eyes. "That was not an answer."
"No," Seryon agreed. "…it was a warning."