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The Smoking Sea, the outskirts of the ruins of Valyria.
Smoke curled from the water and the jagged reefs. Dark shapes flickered in the depths, vanishing as quickly as they appeared.
The sky above the Smoking Sea was heavy and oppressive, the visibility choked by smog and sea mist.
Yet they could see the ruins, for the sky above Valyria was eternally red, as if the land had swallowed the sun and burned with fever.
It was said to be the glow of the Fourteen Flames, the empire of blood and fire buried in blood and fire.
The waters were dangerously hot and toxic with sulfur; life here withered and died with terrifying speed.
There were likely no fish, but the Smoking Sea held its own horrors.
Viserys suspected that with the volcanoes erupting and the blood magic laboratories spiraling out of control, Valyria had become a zone of magical radiation where humans would be corrupted and twisted.
Records stated that on the day of the Doom, every hill for five hundred miles around Valyria exploded simultaneously, spewing ash, smoke, and fire into the sky, changing the very color of the heavens.
The scorching hunger of the flames even consumed the dragons in the sky.
Chasms opened in the earth, swallowing palaces, temples, and entire towns. Lakes boiled away or turned into pools of acid.
Mountains shattered, fountains of fire spewing lava a thousand feet into the air. Dragonglass and the black blood of demons rained down from the red clouds.
The Valyrian peninsula was shattered, the lands to the north sinking beneath the waves, separating the city of Valyria and the Lands of the Long Summer from the mainland by the Smoking Sea.
Even at this distance, Viserys could smell the sulfur and a faint, lingering scent of old blood.
His heart raced. The fire elements were dancing wildly, mingled with the stench of blood magic.
The aura of this sea was ominous; sailing a large ship further would invite disaster.
The Myrman, the Spyglass, and the Lacy Lady formed their small fleet.
The crews were mixed: Morosh's loyal Myrish runaway slaves and slum-born sailors, alongside Viserys's knights, runaway slaves, and Unsullied.
Their goal was united: follow Viserys toward a bright future.
"Admiral Morosh," Viserys commanded. "Guard the ice carefully. If monsters appear from the sea, they will fear the cold."
"At once, Your Grace."
"Morosh, Garin, Hugo," Viserys continued. "The big ships stop here. We go in by longboat."
Viserys would lead a team of ten: his squire Aggo Blackpine, the Summer Islander Jalaka, and eight Unsullied attendants.
In addition to the nine gems from Pentos, Viserys had found two more rubies and sapphires in Andalos.
He tied two gems—one red, one blue—to the wrists of each team member to ward off the violent elemental tides of the ruins. He had just enough for ten men.
The red gems absorbed fire essence; the blue gems, charged with water essence, offered protection.
"Your Grace, we should be with you. We are your sworn shields, loyal unto death!" Hugo and Garin protested.
"I never doubted your loyalty, but this is the land of dragonlords. My decision is final," Viserys said.
Viserys had the full Rhoynar set and dual magic protection.
He could protect himself, but bringing more men would only increase the danger.
The fleet launched a scout boat, unmanned, which bobbed on the water before vanishing into the mist.
Once the team was ready, the fleet followed the red sky until they anchored nervously near the edge of the shattered peninsula.
The water here smelled strange—a strong stench of sulfur rising from the bubbling sea. The gas was toxic.
"Stay alert," Viserys ordered as their longboat cut through the water like an arrow.
The eight Unsullied wore silver-plated armor and carried shields, spears, and crossbows.
The muscle-monster Aggo was clad in heavy plate, wielding his terrifyingly ugly greatsword.
Jalaka, sharp-eyed, carried a fine goldenheart bow and spear.
And Viserys, of course, was the most resplendent in silver armor with a silver spear.
"Do not drink the seawater. Do not eat anything you find," Viserys instructed specifically.
Viserys couldn't describe the scene before him, but keeping the big ships back was the right call.
Valyria was not a natural archipelago but a shattered landmass. The waters around the ruins were treacherous with hidden reefs; a large ship would likely run aground and be trapped.
Viserys saw the wreckage of other ships—explorers from different lands who had met their end here.
Human skeletons lay in the shallows, empty eye sockets staring at the sky.
Many skeletons still wore silver-plated armor, gem necklaces, rings, and brooches. Valuable, but worthless compared to the treasures of Valyria itself.
Viserys looked at the bleached bones, their clothes rotted away. They had come dreaming of riches and found only death.
The sight of the bones cast a gloom over the group, compounded by the bizarre weather.
The longboat reached a suitable landing spot near what appeared to be a collapsed black tower.
In pairs, the men protected Viserys as they disembarked, scanning their surroundings warily.
The wind carried the taste of fire—dry, choking, smelling of ash and sulfur.
Breathing the sulfurous smog felt like inhaling knives.
Fortunately, Viserys had his silver armor, and the red and blue gems provided a purifying shield for his men.
The city of Valyria had been the heart of the peninsula. There were no docks here, only the ruins of a great metropolis.
Even in ruin, the scale was majestic. The topless towers had fallen, the dragon and sphinx statues shattered.
Viserys looked out over acres of ruined towers. Aside from mounds of rubble and gravel, only broken skeletons of buildings remained.
The mounds and tower ruins likely held the most value; the acidic lakes and craters were worthless.
The wide dragon roads were buried. There were no paths; they had to make their own way.
The explosion had leveled and inverted the city's topography, turning it into a jagged landscape of ups and downs.
But Viserys could imagine the glorious days of Valyria.
A city of topless towers belonging to the dragonlord families, lifelike statues of kings and dragons, palaces adorned with sphinxes and gargoyles, the oval plazas, the massive Black Walls—the true capital of the world.
The ground was scattered with black dragonglass and red sulfurous rocks, blasted out by the volcanoes.
"The best treasures must be deeper in," Aggo said.
Viserys nodded. Valyria likely had a concentric structure.
The palaces of the core dragonlords would be in the center, but reaching them meant crossing range after range of rubble hills.
Viserys carried the Spear of Garin the Grey on his back, observing his surroundings.
Insight was key here.
They advanced cautiously. At first, there were no signs of life.
But soon, Viserys raised his spear. With lightning speed, he thrust it into the black gravel of the dragonglass road nearby.
He lifted the silver spear, revealing a blood-red worm the size of a forearm writhing on the tip.
A worm with a face. A snake with hands.
A firewyrm. Like a lizard, but far more terrible.
A four-legged worm with a human-like face and blood-red eyes, its body slender as a snake.
They had poor eyesight, living underground, but they sensed heat and fire.
The firewyrm's blood dripped onto the ground, sizzling into red mist. Its blood was hot as dragon's blood.
Viserys found the creature disgusting, but it was condensed fire essence. Killing it yielded power.
He slowly absorbed the rich fire essence around him.
Firewyrms. Terrifying creatures.
Balerion the Black Dread and Princess Aerea Targaryen had encountered these horrors. The princess had died burning from the inside out.
A layer of azure water-light coated Viserys's spear. As the blue light seeped into the creature, the firewyrm twisted even more violently until it died.
They belonged to heat and fire; they hated ice.
Water wasn't ice, but firewyrms hated it too, though it lacked the instant lethality of ice.
"Careful," Viserys warned. "Firewyrms. They see us as prey."
Human movement generated kinetic energy and heat, attracting the firewyrms' aggression.