There was no longer any need for secrecy.
Daeron mounted Caraxes and flew openly out of King's Landing.
Anyone who bothered to look up might have spotted the figure riding upon the dragon's back. But it didn't matter. The whole point of riding a dragon was to be seen.
Barristan Selmy's caution wasn't wrong, of course. But Daeron was no longer the boy he used to be. He now commanded two thousand Gold Cloaks and five hundred Dragonkeepers.
Even among the high nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, his standing now rivaled the great houses like the Royces, the Rowans, or the Yronwoods.
"Dragon!"
The smallfolk of King's Landing spotted the Blood Wyrm and gazed skyward, their expressions filled with awe.
In an age where dragons had been extinct for over a hundred and fifty years, it was Prince Daeron who had brought them back, allowing the shadow of a young dragon to once again grace the capital's skies.
Over the past year, the people of King's Landing had grown accustomed to the dragon's presence. And slowly, the image of the handsome young prince was etching itself into their hearts.
---
The Kingswood, The Witch's Hut
Daeron held a bowl of vile, green soup, his brow furrowed in disgust. "Do I really have to drink this?"
This looks even worse than the potions the Wizard brews back in Stardew Valley, he thought.
The Woods Witch, a tiny woman leaning on a black cane, looked at him with an irritable, haughty expression. "Of course you must drink it. I spent the better part of a year gathering the ingredients for that single dose."
As she spoke, a clump of moss floated to the surface of the bowl.
Daeron stared at it in silence.
The witch tapped her cane on the floor, looking indignant. "Drink! Do not let it go to waste!"
She could tolerate people looking down on her low birth, but she would not tolerate anyone disrespecting her craft.
Daeron gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and downed the concoction in one gulp.
Hummmm—
A buzzing sound filled his brain. The world began to spin, his body went numb, and his vision was overtaken by splashes of green.
"Trees... so many trees..."
Daeron was delirious, feeling as though he'd eaten a handful of poisonous mushrooms.
He wasn't afraid of any real danger, though. Caraxes was waiting just outside the hut, along with Ser Barristan and Ser Jon to guard him.
Even his own body had built up a certain resistance to toxins.
"Are those... mushrooms...?"
But as the green soup settled in his stomach, Daeron lost all sense of where—or who—he was.
A few moments later, clarity slowly returned. The swaying phantom trees vanished from his sight, and his vision normalized.
No, wait—it wasn't just normal.
He could clearly see every speck of dust and mouse dropping in the corner of the hut. His eyesight was sharper than ever.
"Close your eyes," the Woods Witch commanded. "Feel the breath of the forest."
Daeron obeyed.
Suddenly, he realized his sensory perception had expanded drastically.
Before, he could only vaguely sense two surging forces within him: the fire flowing through his veins, and the life force present in all living things.
Now, with his eyes closed, he sensed a third power—natural, crisp, and resilient. The magic of the forest.
He opened his interface.
[Farmer: Daeron Targaryen]
Farming: Level 10 (Tiller, Artisan)
Mining: Level 8 (Miner)
Foraging: Level 9 (Ranger)
Fishing: Level 10 (Fisher, Pirate)
Combat: Level 7 (Fighter)
He tabbed over to the Special Abilities/Items menu. The first special ability was now lit up.
[Forest Magic]: "You have gained the permanent ability to understand the language of the Junimos."
Daeron felt a surge of joy. I can finally complete the bundles, he thought.
He opened the Community Center interface.
The Junimo text, which had previously looked like gibberish, hadn't changed in appearance, but he could now intuitively understand its meaning.
For example, the first bundle in the Pantry—the Spring Crops Bundle, Summer Crops Bundle, Quality Crops Bundle...
He had stockpiled most of the required items already.
The business here was concluded.
The Woods Witch began to shoo him away. "Alright, child. Go back to your own domain. And don't let that dragon near me again."
"Thank you."
Daeron bowed politely and took his leave. Dragons were creatures of fire, the natural antithesis of forest magic.
He stepped out of the hut.
"My Prince, are you alright?" Ser Jon asked, his face etched with worry.
Barristan looked equally concerned. As Kingsguard who lived by honor and steel, they held a natural aversion to witches and mystics.
"It was a success," Daeron said. "Let us not disturb her again."
Standing there in the Kingswood, he could faintly feel the forest's favor toward him. It was similar to how Targaryens were resistant to heat; near the Dragonmont, he never suffered from the stifling humidity that plagued others.
The [Forest Magic] the witch had brewed for him was potent. It didn't alter his bloodline—it didn't mix leaves into his dragonfire—but it made him feel as much in his element within the woods as a fish in water.
Barristan nodded solemnly. "She is indeed a woods witch of great age. Your grandfather and great-grandfather both listened to her prophecies."
---
Dragonspeak Farm
A small cottage stood on the land. In front of the door, twenty-eight Quality Sprinklers watered the soil. By the waterfall sat a Deluxe Coop and a Deluxe Barn.
Potatoes and cauliflower grew in the tilled earth.
Inside the coop and barn, the livestock had increased: two rabbits, two goats, two sheep, and two pigs.
Daeron went through his routine, walking to the work area beside the cottage to process the animal products.
Then, he returned to the cottage.
"Potatoes, cauliflower, green beans..."
He pulled out the required items one by one and placed them into the Shipping Bin to submit them for the bundles. Since there was no dilapidated Community Center building in this world, the Shipping Bin served as the conduit for the offerings.
Night fell.
It was 2:00 AM.
Daeron lay in bed, warmed by the fire in the hearth.
Outside the cottage, Caraxes lay sprawled on the ground, his massive, serpentine body stretching out for yards. Every breath the dragon took released a puff of scorching heat.
Slowly, Daeron drifted off.
His eyelids fluttered as he entered a dream for the first time in a long while.
A small, green, apple-like creature appeared in his dream. It waved its stick-figure arms frantically, chattering something in a high-pitched, burbly voice.
It seemed anxious.
---
The Next Day
Daeron woke promptly at 6:00 AM and went out to collect the animal products.
When he passed the Shipping Bin, he was startled.
A pile of colorful gift boxes, big and small, was stacked like a small mountain.
Pop... Pop-pop...
He opened them one by one, revealing the rewards for completing the bundles.
A Furnace, a Small Magnet Ring, Preserves Jars, a Seed Maker...
All of them were practical, high-value tools.
"The offering was successful. They sent the rewards."
Suddenly, Daeron remembered the strange dream from the night before.
That little green apple creature—it was a Junimo.
"It seemed desperate to tell me something."
Daeron pondered this, his gaze drifting over to Caraxes.
The dragon was currently lying on his stomach outside the barn, staring at the special livestock inside, drool dripping from his maw.
Daeron realized what had happened. "Dragons are too dominating. The Junimos are terrified to come near."
Even the Three-Eyed Raven wouldn't dare try his dream-walking tricks here. Junimos were peaceful spirits, timid by nature. They certainly wouldn't dare approach the farm physically with a dragon guarding it.
---
King's Landing
Elia Martell's face was full of heartache as she applied salve to her brother Oberyn's wound.
"You shouldn't have provoked Daeron," she said softly. "He has always been respectful to me."
"I was merely testing his weight," Oberyn replied.
He tried to act nonchalant, but the stinging pain on his neck was a constant reminder of the humiliation and the threat he had faced.
The Targaryens had produced a dangerous one.
Elia sighed. " The King does not accept my children with Rhaegar. Daeron is the children's uncle. If you offend him, it could bring trouble to little Rhaenys."
"What is wrong with a child who has the look of Dorne?"
Oberyn despised these worldly prejudices from the bottom of his heart. He pointed at his niece in the cradle and spoke, articulating every word: "She is the eldest daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen. That is enough."
Elia shook her head, unwilling to argue the point.
Over the last half-year, she had clearly seen Rhaegar's power growing, but she also felt the pressure on him mounting. He was like a powder keg, needing only a single spark to explode.
Oberyn's lips curled into a faint smile as he reassured her. "Rest easy. My brother and I will not sit idly by. We will ensure Rhaegar sits safely upon the Iron Throne."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted to his niece, who was chewing on her fingers.
When the time is right, he thought, we will crown an heir with Martell blood. And we will tame a dragon.