I took note of the creature above us, one that had not deigned to show any interest in us so far. Leading the way, we moved deeper into the ruined city, following the wretch's trail through broken streets choked with ash and cracked stone roads. The creature's path was erratic but traceable: scattered debris, claw marks on walls, and ground. I sniffed the air instinctively and was greeted with the lingering stench of corrupted flesh.
Which meant I could not have made a mistake.
The trail led us to another surviving manor. This one barely stood straight; half of it had collapsed while its eastern wing was half-submerged in a flow of solidified lava that had cooled into black glass. Whatever spells of preservation saved the first did not seem as effective here. My eyes traced the darkness until I finally found what I was looking for. The wretch had gone to ground here, literally. I could hear the faint echo of movement from below, through some passage dug into the basement levels.
I peered into the opening. It was narrow, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through, and descended at a sharp angle into darkness. The walls were rough-hewn stone, slick with moisture, which was a surprise considering the constant heat of the broken peninsula. Scattered around the entrance were broken scales and scraped flesh from where the wretches must have tried to force their way through.
"Master?" Isaac asked, already preparing to descend.
I held up a hand, stopping him. "No."
Three pairs of eyes turned to me in surprise.
I straightened, brushing imaginary dust from my coat with deliberate care. "I am many things, Isaac, but I am not a rat to go scurrying through holes in the earth." My tone was calm as I tried to ignore the utter disgust such a thought ignited in my gut. "We will continue our exploration. If this mysterious rider wishes to find us, he will. The wretch will ensure that much."
Gerion let out a relieved sigh, which showed he had great doubts about entering the tunnel. Marwyn seemed uncertain, and I could tell under the mask he was pouting. Well, he was going to have to live with it. Isaac simply nodded, accepting my decision without question.
"Besides," I continued, gesturing to the ruined cityscape around us, "Valyria offers treasures beyond a single corrupted survivor. It would be wasteful to ignore them." I turned to Gerion. "We'll be depending on you to guide us. Do you know of any interesting points or landmarks?"
The Lannister knight nodded after a few seconds of thought before leading the way. "My memory is not what it used to be, but I can remember some of the places we looted and raided. There was too much to take, and even if we've lost our original hoard, I believe there will be more than enough to plunder."
And so we pressed on, deeper into the corpse of the greatest empire Planetos had ever seen.
The next few hours proved educational.
Ser Gerion led us to the few surviving buildings he remembered, and in them we found gold in abundance. The coins themselves had not survived the heat of multiple volcanoes erupting and coming to life; instead, they had melted and, in time, cooled into lumps and ingots of the precious metal.
In one such building, a trio of wretches attacked us, and Gerion and Isaac made short work of them. That was where Isaac tried making a night creature. The process was strange to watch. I knew the forging of a night creature was a tedious thing, yet Isaac, focused in combat as he was, had streamlined the process, granting him the ability to turn a man into a night creature in seconds.
That was how Bob One and Bob Two were created, at least in my head. The third wretch had exploded halfway through its transformation, and it was only due to my speed, catching the corpse and flinging it away, that Isaac was not half-dead on the floor. The two remaining night creatures were shaped oddly; one seemed like a variation of the fire-breathing gargoyles Isaac loved to create, while the second was a rounder, burlier figure with rock-like skin and an ugly face.
Isaac and Gerion collected our loot, filling a sack Isaac had fashioned from a tapestry before passing it to the creatures without another word. I had little interest in gold or jewelry, but I allowed it regardless. We moved on.
In one manse, we discovered a painting that had somehow survived the Doom remarkably intact. It depicted a Valyrian family consisting of a mother, father, and three children, all standing before a great pyramid. The colors were still vibrant, almost impossibly so. I reached out with my senses and felt a web of spellwork over it, preservation magic. That one, Marwyn bundled in joy.
Books were also more common than I expected. Most had been destroyed by heat or time, but the presence of ruined books spoke to high literacy, and that meant more could be found. It didn't take long. Marwyn practically wept when we discovered a library in the basement of what might have been a magistrate's residence. It was drastically larger than the vault we had found over a day ago, filled with mundane knowledge and history. Marwyn spent thirty minutes cataloging titles before I reminded him we couldn't carry them all.
"Choose wisely, Archmaester," I told him. "We take only what we can transport."
He selected a dozen volumes, mostly historical records from the century before the Doom, and a record on the most popular dragons before the fall. So far, this was the first confirmation of dragons on the island other than broken masonry. It seemed the Valyrians had heavily regulated their knowledge despite their popularity which made some sense. It won't do for some random slave with a hint of the blood to go tame a dragon.
It was in a merchant's house, identifiable by scales and counting devices scattered among the wreckage, that we encountered our first wraiths on the third day wandering the peninsula. The same wraiths Gerion had spoken of with such fear.
She appeared without warning, a pale, translucent figure walking in front of me. I froze as she drifted through the wall and into a room like smoke.
"Master Dracula?" Isaac called out, his eyes scanning around at my sudden caution.
"You didn't see her?"
"See who?" Marwyn questioned, and I shook my head, continuing even as Gerion began to tremble behind us. We crossed deeper into the broken house, emerging into what seemed like a garden, and this time, when the figures appeared, this time I was not the only one to see them.
The woman returned, walking by again in elegant robes and muttering something beneath her breath as she counted invisible coins. A man sat midair, sharpening an invisible sword. Two children ran past, playing, oblivious to our presence.
"No," Gerion muttered, terror sinking in. I remembered his warnings, his story of those he had lost.
"Don't touch them," I warned immediately.
But Marwyn, driven by curiosity, had already reached out toward one of the children.
The moment his fingers made contact, three things happened at once. The wraith's head snapped toward him. Its childlike features twisted into emptiness and hunger. Its mouth opened in a soundless scream, and I saw something flow from Marwyn into the spirit, a wispy thread of light that could only be his soul.
Valyrian Dementors?
I moved.
My hand closed on Marwyn's shoulder, yanking him back with enough force to send him sprawling. The connection broke, and the wraith's scream became audible, a sound like wind through broken glass, high and keening.
The other wraiths turned as one, the woman, the man, the second child, all of them fixing us with hollow, hungry eyes.
"Out," I commanded. "Now."
They didn't need to be told twice. We retreated from the building in minutes, Gerion and the night creature leading the way while I kept myself between the wraiths and the others. The spirits pursued us to the threshold but stopped there. Gerion and Marwyn bent over, gasping for breath, while I remained still, watching the spirits press against an invisible barrier, their mouths working in silent rage.
"They should not be able to pass the threshold," Marwyn said between breaths.
"Those damn shades," Gerion muttered, shaken as he forced himself upright.
"They're not simple shades. They're imprints," Marwyn said, unsteady. "Echoes of the dead, bound to the places they died. I met a few while exploring the ruins of Old Ghis. They walk the same paths over and over, reenacting their final moments. But they were faint, more shades than this." He turned to me, guilt written on his face. "They also didn't actively hunt the living."
"These do," I said. I was annoyed but not surprised. I quelled the irritation and turned back to the wraiths. "The Doom might have killed the Valyrians, but the chaotic magic that followed trapped them here, binding their souls to this place. They're not truly aware, not until something living touches them. Then they wake, and then they hunger." Dracula had seen such before.
"That was foolish of you, Archmaester," Isaac finally said. He had been glaring at Marwyn for minutes, his hand resting on Longclaw's hilt. "If you endanger Master Dracula again, I'll cut you down where you stand."
Marwyn only muttered an apology. I ignored them and looked back at the building, at the wraiths still clawing at their invisible prison. "We'll avoid direct contact with any more of their ilk. Mark them and move on."
Gerion continued to lead us inland, the ruins growing stranger. Buildings that defied architecture, blackened towers spiraled into the sky, and bridges that hung midair connecting to nothing. A long time ago, these structures were fantastical; now they were simply nonsensical.
I noticed it first. We were slowing. Not me or the night creature, but the others. Gerion had fallen back, and even Isaac's breathing was audible. We needed to rest somewhere shaded from the oppressive heat pressing down like a physical weight.
Marwyn spotted the monolith first.
"Lord Dracula," he called, excitement creeping into his tone. "You should see this."
I turned and saw it. It stood in what had once been a plaza, a pillar of black stone, twenty feet tall, and six feet wide. Glyphs glowed faintly across its surface. The monolith was cracked, a fissure running from base to apex. Yet despite the damage, power radiated from it.
I approached slowly, studying the glyphs. They were familiar, much like runes. A universal language.
"What is it?" Isaac asked.
"A waystone," Marwyn breathed, moving closer with reverence. "The Valyrians used them to mark important locations, creating networks across their empire. But this…" He gestured to the glyphs. "This is far more sophisticated than any described in the texts."
"That's because it isn't just a marker. It's a map," I said. I recognized bits and pieces, and pieced together the others from what little fragments remained. I identified words for location, travel, and payment. We would need to pay to use it, and what did the Valyrians prize most?
I dug my fingers into my palm without hesitation. Blood welled dark and rich. I pressed my bleeding hand against the stone.
The reaction was immediate.
The glyphs flared to life. The magic in the monolith recognized the magic in my blood, my blood was not Valyrian, but it was power. The structure hesitated for a second, then finally accepted. The air shimmered, and suddenly, I was looking at a map.
It wasn't physical, but a rotating, three-dimensional projection showing Valyria as it once was, whole, unblemished, and magnificent. Points of light marked locations across the empire, connected by thin lines of light. Hundreds of them. Forty shone brightest.
Then distortion set in, the image flickering. The Doom had shattered the network. Still, one bright point remained clear, not far. I studied it carefully, committing it to memory.
"Remarkable," Marwyn whispered in awe. "The sophistication to create this… the understanding of magical theory, spatial manipulation… This isn't just spellcraft, Lord Dracula. It's art. Genius. How far ahead were they? Four thousand years of progress, while Westeros and Essos have been stagnant for ten thousand."
His words gave me pause. He was right. The Valyrians had been shepherds once, yet grew into sorcerers who dared to act as gods did, while the rest of the world remained frozen in time. Did that progression and act of breaking the mould, did it have something to do with the Doom? I shelved the thought and pulled my hand away. The projection faded, and the glyphs dimmed.
I looked at my palm as the wound sealed without a trace, then turned to my companions. "That location," I said, pointing to where the light had been. "We're heading there."
They nodded, and after a brief rest, we pressed on. The ruins grew grander, larger, more ornate. We were entering the district of some kind of nobility.
Near sunset, or what passed for it in this smoke-choked hellscape, we found it.
The manor rose from the earth like a monument to defiance. Unlike the others, it stood intact. Its towers reached skyward, gargoyles lining its perimeter, watchful and menacing. But above it was what drew my attention, a wide, circular platform of black stone, supported by dragon-shaped pillars.
"A dragon landing," Marwyn whispered in awe. "This belonged to one of the Forty Families. One of the dragonlords. Each family commanded dragons said to be larger than Balerion ever grew. Here we'll find true knowledge, perhaps even clues to the Doom."
I studied the manor. If Marwyn was right, then treasures lay within, knowledge, power, secrets lost to time. Things that would actually draw my attention, instead of the trinklets we had seen so far.
"We're going in," I decided, and no one objected.
We approached the main entrance, massive double doors of obsidian twelve feet tall. Flanking them were two sphinx statues with feline bodies, folded wings, and eerily human faces. Unlike the rest of Valyria, these were pristine. Perfect.
That should have been my first warning. I was three steps from the threshold when both sphinxes' eyes blinked open, real eyes, golden and intelligent.
Stone scraped as they moved, blocking the door. Then they spoke, feminine voices echoing in perfect harmony.
"Who seeks entry to the House of Thalraxes?"
I stopped, studying the magic that animated them. Different from blood magic, or the magic that saturated the air, this was chaos given order.
"I am Vlad Dracula," I said, meeting their gaze.
The sphinxes regarded me for a long moment, then shifted aside slightly once more, not blocking, but not allowing entry either.
"The House of Thalraxes stands empty," said one.
"The line is broken," said the other.
"The dragons are gone."
"But the House remembers," the first added.
"And the House requires," said the second.
"A test," they finished together. "Answer our riddle and pass. Fail, and join the ashes."
Isaac tensed. Gerion gripped Brightroar. Marwyn scribbled notes.
"Ask your riddle," I said calmly.
The sphinxes smiled.
"We are the beginning and the ending," said the first.
"Born in fire, bound in blood," said the second.
"We fly without wings, breathe without air."
"We are claimed but never tamed."
"We sleep in stone and wake in flesh."
"We are the price and the prize."
"What are we?" they asked in unison.
Their golden eyes burned into me, hungry for failure. I raised a brow. Was the creator of this riddle stupid?