A week at sea reshaped him.
Each morning began before sunrise with the slap of cold water, followed by drills with Ser Jorah on the slick deck of the longship. Steel sang through mist. Muscles burned. Bruises bloomed.
Then the weight training began.
Barrels filled with water. Makeshift resistance rigs fashioned from chains and ballast stones. Rope climbs up the mast. Every day, Viserys drove himself until the vomit hit the floorboards—and then pushed past it.
The crew—silent, eyeless summons—watched without judgment.
But Jorah noticed.
"You're not the same man I met in Pentos," he said after one particularly brutal session.
"I'm not the same man I was yesterday," Viserys replied, wiping blood from his lip.
Even Daenerys watched him now—not with fear, but with something deeper. A fragile blend of curiosity and recognition. Her brother was changing. Growing. Becoming.
And the change wasn't just in his confidence.
It was in his body.
He was taller now, his posture regal without effort. His chest and arms had hardened, no longer the bony prince of hollow threats. He moved with fluid power, like a man who knew the strength in his limbs.
But it was in the quiet of night, staring at the system interface, that Viserys uncovered the real truth:
Stats weren't strength.
They were potential.
He'd boosted Strength, Dexterity, Endurance… but only marginal improvement came from the numbers. The real difference emerged when he trained. The higher his stats, the faster he adapted, the more potential his body unlocked with effort.
The system didn't hand you power.
It made you worthy of earning it.
And then came the breakthrough:
[Skill Mastery Update: Knight of the Seven Kingdoms – 100%]
Bonus Gained: +10% weapon speed, +20% sword control, passive parry chance unlocked.
Style Techniques Unlocked:
— Falcon Step (Explosive sidestep)
— King's Reversal (Counter-strike from block stance)
— Steel Patience (Stamina loss halved when holding guard)
Viserys nearly laughed aloud when the notification popped up. All that sweat had meant something. He'd mastered his first style. The sword was no longer an accessory. It was an extension of him.
He slept beside Blackfyre every night now.
Not out of paranoia.
Out of reverence.
And now—seven days since they fled the Dothraki—they reached the city that could make or break them.
Volantis.
⸻
The first thing Viserys noticed was the smell.
Not rot or sewage—that was Braavos.
No, Volantis smelled of spice, incense, and ambition.
The city sprawled along the Rhoyne like a serpent basking in sun and sin. Towering black walls, carved with dragonbone and old Valyrian script, guarded the upper city—the Old Volantis, ruled by the highborn families descended from the Dragonlords. Beyond it, stretching like an open wound, lay the Lower City, where a million slaves toiled and bled and whispered.
Massive bridges spanned the river, teeming with markets, hawkers, and pilgrims from half the world.
Above it all: the Black Walls.
Below it: a powder keg of class, creed, and cult.
And Viserys Targaryen had just arrived.
The longship drifted into dock under cover of morning mist. The sails were already furled, and the Targaryen standard—red on black—snapped quietly in the wind.
Viserys didn't hesitate.
"Recall ship."
The longship shimmered in place. The water around it hissed as the vessel deconstructed into crimson light, vanishing with a soft pop into nothingness.
[System Notice: Longship Recalled]
Smart. He wasn't about to walk into a city of spies and rumors waving the dragon's flag like a madman.
He turned to the others.
"Welcome to Volantis," he said. "Keep your eyes open, and your mouths shut unless I say otherwise. I don't know what's changed here… or who might be watching."
Illyrio adjusted his cloak. "If we're lucky? No one knows we're here."
"And if we're not?" Jorah asked.
"Then someone's already plotting my death," Viserys said calmly.
⸻
They moved through the city in a tight formation.
Viserys led. Jorah shadowed him like a bodyguard. Illyrio huffed behind them, muttering about filth and overpriced figs. Daenerys, hood drawn up, clutched the box of dragon eggs beneath her arm.
They passed merchant carts selling fried snake and jade trinkets. Red Priests shouted from marble steps, eyes wild with prophecy:
"The dragon of shadow will rise again!"
"The fire-born shall cross the sea of stars!"
Viserys smirked.
Not yet.
But soon.
They crossed the bridge of the Long Bridge District, where prostitutes plied their trade above spice markets and slave collars jingled like wind chimes. Viserys's eyes flicked constantly—gauging escape routes, potential enemies, where coin could buy silence or chaos.
The group stopped at a worn-looking building tucked beside a teahouse and a weaponsmith's stall. An inn called The Speared Whale, named for the massive broken sculpture embedded in its wall.
It wasn't lavish.
It was anonymous.
Perfect.
Illyrio paid the innkeeper, exchanging coin with smooth lies and practiced flattery. The man barely looked at them.
"Two rooms," he confirmed. "One with two beds. The other with one. Second floor."
Viserys nodded. "Jorah, you and Illyrio take the double. Daenerys and I will take the single."
He ignored the way the knight's brow twitched at that.
Daenerys said nothing, only followed as Viserys climbed the stairs.
⸻
The room was small but clean. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling like old scars. A single window overlooked a quiet alley. One bed. A wash basin. A storage trunk.
Daenerys set the box down beside it.
Viserys locked the door, checked the latches, and pulled the curtain closed.
Silence.
She sat at the edge of the bed, still gripping the dragon egg box. Her violet eyes studied him—not with fear, but with questions.
He unbuckled his sword belt and set Blackfyre gently against the wall. Then, without a word, he sat on the floor and opened the system again.
[Dragon King System Interface – Open]
Location: Volantis
Threat Level: Moderate
Current Quests:
— Legacy Reforged [Progress: 40%]
— Heir of Flame [Locked – Conditions Pending]
— Main Quest: Reclaim the Iron Throne [Progress: 1%]
Available DP: 19,823
Skill Paths: Commander, Dragon-Blooded, Mystic [Unlocked]
Inventory: [Blackfyre], [Volantis Map], [Praetorian Guard x5], [Coastal Camouflage Cloak], [Language Scroll: Valyrian Dialects]
He hovered over Mystic.
"Unlock Dragon-Blooded synergy," he whispered.
[Warning: Questline Locked Behind Heir of Flame]
So that was the chain.
The eggs were the key.
He looked up at Daenerys.
"You've been quiet," he said.
She looked at him carefully. "You've been different."
"I'm trying to survive."
"You're trying to become something more than Viserys Targaryen."
He smiled faintly. "I already have."
She opened the box slowly. Red. Green. Black. Each egg gleamed in the lantern light. Unhatched. Silent.
Yet alive in some way.
"Do you believe they'll hatch?" she asked.
Viserys stood, walked to her side, and knelt before the eggs.
"I believe I was given this second life for a reason. I believe we were born into fire. Not for exile. Not for begging. For something more."
He reached out. His hand hovered over the red egg.
A faint pulse. A heartbeat?
[Connection Detected]
Dragonbond Status: Initiated
Progress: 1%
He smiled.
The dragon wasn't born yet.
But it was waking.
And so was he.