When The Cannibal's shadow swept over the long promontory of Driftmark, Daemon saw the full panorama of the island on the eve of its zenith for the first time.
The azure waves of Blackwater Bay embraced the island. The sea surface shimmered under the sunlight like shattered glass, with the outline of Dragonstone faintly visible in the distance.
As they approached, a strange fragrance suddenly mingled with the salty sea breeze—a mix of cinnamon, nutmeg, and myrrh drifting from the direction of the docks, carrying the exotic flavor of the Free Cities.
"That is Hull." Rayford Rosby pointed at the layers of wooden buildings below. "It lives up to its name."
Daemon looked in the direction he pointed. The coastline was packed with ships, from simple fishing boats to three-masted galleons, masts dense as a forest.
And the houses built along the hills truly had roofs made of old ship hulls, gleaming dark brown in the sun. From afar, the entire town looked constructed from wreckage washed up by the waves.
"The shipping business of House Velaryon is more prosperous than we imagined," Mycah Rivers whispered, his gaze drawn to a group of merchants in Braavosi attire haggling fluently in the Common Tongue with local vendors by the docks.
When The Cannibal landed in the square before Castle Driftmark, Rhaenys Targaryen was already waiting there with her two children.
She wore a sea-green silk dress of House Velaryon, but the collar was embroidered with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Time seemed to favor this "Queen Who Never Was"; the fine lines at the corners of her eyes only made her violet gaze deeper.
Seven-year-old Laena stood beside her, silver hair cascading like a waterfall, holding the hand of her four-year-old brother Laenor. The little boy hid behind his sister, staring curiously at The Cannibal with his purple eyes.
"Little Daemon, you're finally here." Rhaenys's laugh was crisp as wind chimes. She stepped forward to hug Daemon, but her gaze went past him to Gael, the corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smirk. "Aunt Gael came too? Seems my disappointing brother finally did something decent."
Gael's cheeks flushed instantly, and she subconsciously hid behind Daemon.
Dreamfyre landed at the edge of the square. The wind from her folding pale-blue wings messed up Gael's hair.
Rhaenys's gaze then turned to Mysaria beside Gael. The girl wore a new grey dress, platinum-blonde curls braided into two plaits, looking somewhat reserved. "And this is?"
"Mysaria. You can call her Mysa," Daemon introduced quickly, fearing Rhaenys might say something to embarrass Mysaria.
Unexpectedly, Rhaenys sighed and patted Mysaria's shoulder gently. "Poor child." She turned to Daemon, a note of reproach in her tone. "Big Daemon went too far this time. Don't mess around with him next time; learn more from Viserys—"
"Sister Rhaenys," Daemon interrupted quickly, not wanting to discuss Viserys's "true nature" here. "Where is Corlys? I missed him at the wedding last time; surely he isn't busy again?"
Rhaenys pouted, her tone helpless. "What else could he be doing? Talking business with his Essosi friends in the solar again." Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she grabbed Daemon's arm. "By the way, want to see the new city of Driftmark with your sister? The Sea Snake has poured his entire fortune into it."
Laenor cheered immediately. "I want to go! I want to see the silver tower tops!" Rhaenys ruffled her son's hair with a smile. "Alright, we'll take you along."
Departing from Hull, Daemon truly grasped the wealth of the "Sea Snake" Corlys. This town, developed from three fishing villages, was now crowded with merchants from all over the world—Braavosi bankers in grey robes, Pentoshi nobles with silk scarves. Warehouses by the docks were piled high with spices, silk, and wine. The chants of porters and haggling of merchants interwove into a noisy symphony.
"His nine voyages made him a fortune," Rayford whispered to Daemon. "I heard Father say his wealth exceeds even the Lannisters."
Daemon said nothing. His gaze was drawn to the shipyard, where a dozen warships were under construction. Craftsmen hammered planks with dull, powerful thuds.
He knew these ships might play a crucial role in future storms, and their owner was giving everything for the island's prosperity.
On the road from Hull to Spicetown, the scene grew even more prosperous.
What used to be a small fishing village now boasted stone markets and taverns. Shops lining the streets were draped with colorful fabrics and spices, the aroma in the air almost intoxicating.
A group of Lysene prostitutes stood at a tavern door soliciting business, casting flirtatious glances at Daemon's party as they passed.
"That's the new city ahead," Rhaenys pointed to the construction site, pride in her tone. Daemon looked where she pointed, and his heart tightened suddenly.
It was a city being built of pure white marble. Slender towers pierced the clouds, their silver-topped spires shining in the sunlight like jewels dropped by the gods.
A long causeway connected the new city to Driftmark. Countless craftsmen were busy on the causeway, and the sparkling waves of Blackwater Bay nearly lapped at its edges at high tide.
"It doesn't have a name yet," Rhaenys said wistfully. "Corlys says when it's finished, he'll let me name it as a name-day gift."
Daemon's throat felt tight. He knew the future name of this city—High Tide. The crystallization of Corlys Velaryon's life's work, yet destined to be swallowed by the flames of the Greens and the Triarchy alongside Spicetown during the Dance of the Dragons. Those treasures from Essos, silver spires, and white marble would all turn to ash.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rhaenys noticed his silence and asked with a smile. "Corlys says he wants it to replace that damp, dark Castle Driftmark."
Daemon nodded, forcing a smile. "Truly beautiful." Watching the busy craftsmen and Laena pointing excitedly at the silver spires, he suddenly felt suffocated.
The glory of this city was so dazzling, yet destined to vanish in the fires of future war, just like the fate of House Velaryon.
"Over there is Spicetown," Rhaenys pointed to another town near the new city. Its docks were busier than Hull's, hosting several giant merchant ships from Qarth. "It used to be just a small village; now even the Iron Bank of Braavos has a branch here."
Gael's attention was caught by a group of slaves unloading cargo. Their skin was ink-black, wearing only rough cloth, and the overseer's whip landed on them occasionally. She frowned, tugging gently at Daemon's sleeve. "They are pitiful."
Daemon didn't speak. He knew slavery was the norm in the Free Cities in this era. Even if the Iron Throne forbade it, the traditions across the Narrow Sea couldn't be easily changed.
Just then, a man in gorgeous brocade robes walked over quickly, a shrewd smile on his face. "Lady Rhaenys, Lord Corlys invites you and the esteemed guests to the castle for dinner."
"Understood," Rhaenys nodded, turning to Daemon. "Let's go meet my 'busy' husband."
On the way to Castle Driftmark, Daemon's gaze never left the rising High Tide.
The setting sun bathed the marble walls in a golden halo, beautiful as an unreal dream.
He suddenly thought of the Whispers on Crackclaw Point. That dilapidated ruin contrasted sharply with the splendor before him, yet neither could escape the fate of destruction by war.
"What are you thinking?" Rhaenys interrupted his thoughts.
"Nothing." Daemon shook his head. "Just thinking Corlys is remarkable."
Rhaenys laughed. "Him? He thinks about these things all his life. Sometimes I truly feel he loves his ships and castles more than me and the children." She paused, her tone growing sentimental. "But seeing Driftmark prosper so, I am happy for him."
Daemon looked at the light in her eyes and suddenly understood Corlys's obsession.
Perhaps the Sea Snake knew peace in the Seven Kingdoms wouldn't last. Pouring everything into building this city wasn't just for House Velaryon's glory, but to build a haven for his family and people before the storm arrived.
Unfortunately, he wouldn't get his wish.
As the shadow of Castle Driftmark loomed, Daemon withdrew his gaze.
This dark, gloomy castle, with salt stains on the walls like tear tracks, silently told of the years it had endured.
He knew historically this was Jaehaerys and Alysanne's refuge in their youth, and would be a turning point for House Velaryon's fate in the coming Dance.
"Don't worry," Rhaenys seemed to read his mind, patting his shoulder and "ravaging" his silver hair in a hug. "Corlys is busy, but he'll be happy to see you. After all, you're under my protection."
Daemon smiled and followed her into the gates of Castle Driftmark.
The castle was damp, the air filled with the smell of sea water and wood, a world away from the prosperity outside.
He could hear arguments from a distance, presumably Corlys discussing business with his "Essosi friends."
Gael and Mysaria followed behind him. Laena was holding Gael's hand, excitedly explaining the secrets of the silver spires.
Daemon watched their backs, thinking of the rising High Tide again. A strong urge surged in his heart—he wanted to stop that war, to let this beautiful city and the people he met in Rosby, Maidenpool, and Crackclaw Point survive the coming storm.
The thought was suppressed as soon as it arose. He knew it was nearly impossible. The torrent of history rolled forward, unchangeable by one man alone.
But at least, he could try. He was Daemon Blackfyre! In this life, wielding Blackfyre and riding the giant dragon The Cannibal! He had confidence that in the storm of the Dance of the Dragons, he would stir up a black fire that belonged to him!
Daemon took a deep breath and pushed open the doors to the solar. Corlys Velaryon appeared before him. The "Sea Snake" looked even more spirited than when they met last year, conversing fluently in High Valyrian with several merchants in exotic attire.
Seeing Daemon enter, he clearly found a way to avoid the "sensitive" topics with the merchants, stopping the conversation immediately with a smile.
"Daemon, my wife's brother, you're finally here."
Daemon stepped forward to embrace him. The Sea Snake carried the scent of sea breeze and spices—the smell of Driftmark, and the glory and shadow of an era.
Outside the window, the silver spires of High Tide still shone in the twilight, like stars refusing to be extinguished.
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