Chapter 11 — Dragon Bones and Return
[You've discovered a hidden underground entrance leading to an unknown location. The edges are loose — it seems to have been used recently.]
The glowing line of text made Charles's pulse quicken.
He raised his torch and spotted it — a dark, window-shaped opening near the base of the stone wall.
The narrow hole seemed almost invisible at first glance, half-hidden beneath cobwebs and dust, yet it pulled at his gaze like a silent invitation.
"Someone's used this recently…" he murmured, crouching to inspect it.
The opening was loose around the edges — a few stones had clearly been disturbed. He tugged, and with a faint crack of old mortar, the panel shifted open.
It matched the description of what they'd been searching for… except for one problem.
"It's… tiny," Charles muttered, staring at the cramped crawlspace.
"Then maybe it's not the right one," Ned said, frowning as he squinted at the narrow passage.
"There's nothing else that fits," Charles replied, leaning in to test it. He squeezed his upper body through — tight, but possible. "See? It'll work. Barely."
He looked back at Ned with a grin.
The older man's expression darkened. His broad shoulders and solid frame were clearly not designed for tunnels like this.
"This might be our last obstacle," Charles said, tone mock-sympathetic. "Good luck, big guy."
Ned glared at him for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "Seven hells…"
Gritting his teeth, he began stripping off gear — leather armor, belt, even his sword, which Charles caught and tossed down the hole first.
"Breathe in. Shoulders tight. Legs crossed."
"Don't lecture me like I'm a boy," Ned growled — and then promptly got stuck halfway.
It took both of them, a lot of pulling, and a few muttered curses, but at last, with one final shove, Charles managed to push the red-faced lord through.
Ned dropped down on the other side, panting, his voice echoing faintly up the passage. "I should thank the Lannisters," he said dryly. "After starving me for days, I've lost enough weight to fit through that damn hole."
Charles crawled down after him, torchlight spilling into the chamber below — and froze.
"What's wrong?" Ned asked, catching his breath. Then he followed Charles's gaze — and went still.
The chamber was enormous. The air was cold and ancient, heavy with the scent of age and dust. All around them lay bones — colossal, twisted, and unmistakably inhuman.
Blackened skeletons of dragons, their ribs like arches, their skulls large enough to swallow a man whole. The flickering torchlight danced across rows of ivory fangs and hollow eye sockets.
Ned's voice came softly, reverent and grim. "The remains of House Targaryen's dragons… I thought Aerys had all of them turned into ornaments or weapons. I never imagined this many were hidden here."
He looked around, realization dawning. "This must be a dragon crypt — a secret tomb."
"Dragon bones," Charles echoed, eyes wide. "No wonder…"
A faint shimmer of blue text flickered before him:
[Dragon Bone — saturated with ancient spiritual energy. Contains vast quantities of unknown power.]
Charles's pulse quickened. Something like this… it was priceless — power incarnate.
Without thinking, he reached out to touch the nearest skull — its jagged horns still gleaming faintly beneath centuries of dust.
The moment his fingers brushed the bone, agony seared through his hand. It was like plunging his soul into molten fire.
"—Tch!"
He jerked back violently, clutching his hand as pain tore through him. His breath came ragged, eyes wide with shock.
Ned turned immediately. "What happened?"
Charles shook his head, still reeling. "Don't… don't touch it."
To test it, Ned did exactly that — pressing his calloused palm against the same skull.
Nothing. No reaction at all.
He frowned. "It's just bone."
Charles's expression shifted as understanding flickered behind his eyes.
"He can't feel it…" he murmured under his breath. "Only I can."
Without explaining further, he forced a smile. "It's nothing. Let's move."
Ned studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing. He simply nodded and climbed onto Charles's back again.
They continued deeper through the tunnel, weaving between the ancient remains. Each time Charles passed another set of bones, he felt the same temptation — and the same punishment.
Every touch sent waves of spiritual fire lashing through his soul, burning his nerves raw. No matter how small or old the bones, the result was the same.
Why?
Why only him?
He didn't know — but deep down, Charles had the uneasy feeling that the answer lay buried somewhere in the very power he'd been using since arriving in this world.
Something was changing within him.
Something that the dragon bones recognized — and rejected.
Still, he couldn't resist taking something.
On their way out, he found a cluster of small, pale-red fragments scattered across the floor — fragments of a creature no larger than a dog.
[Incomplete remains of a juvenile dragon — residual energy detected.]
"Good enough," he murmured, wrapping the shards in his torn shirt and tying them to his waist.
Even if he didn't know their purpose, he couldn't leave empty-handed after everything they'd gone through.
The path ahead grew narrower and darker. The air turned damp and foul. Soon, their boots splashed into a black stream that stank of rot.
Charles wrinkled his nose. "Perfect. From dragons to sewage."
Carrying Ned, he trudged through the muck, each step squelching unpleasantly. After what felt like forever, a faint light appeared ahead — and with it, a gust of cold night air.
His pace quickened.
Moments later, the tunnel opened wide, revealing a vast night sky.
Starlight gleamed above them. The moon hung pale and distant, its glow silvering the rippling surface of the drainage canal below. Beyond it, the glittering sprawl of King's Landing stretched across the horizon — a sleeping giant of fire and stone.
Behind them loomed the massive walls of the Red Keep. From within came the distant tolling of alarm bells.
Ned exhaled deeply, awe softening his voice. "We made it. By the gods, we actually made it."
"Yeah…" Charles murmured. "We're out."
He still felt dazed — everything that had happened seemed too unreal, too sudden.
Ned's relief faded quickly, replaced by grim focus. "We can't linger. Escaping the Red Keep was only the hardest step. The Lannisters will never stop hunting me. I have to leave the city before dawn."
Charles tilted his head. "And your plan?"
"You intend to come with me?" Ned's eyes flicked toward him. "It'll be dangerous."
Charles shrugged. "If they're kind enough to forgive me, I'll stay. But let's be honest — they won't."
"Then we'll need help." Ned hesitated. "There's a black-cloaked man in the city — Yoren, of the Night's Watch. He recruits for the Wall. He's an honorable man. If anyone can hide us, it's him."
"The Night's Watch…" Charles muttered, the name faintly familiar — but before he could ask, his vision blurred.
A line of text appeared before his eyes:
[Your time in this world is expiring.]
"What— already?"
It hit him all at once. Five hours had passed since the escape began. The time limit was up.
"Wait— Ned, that gold-haired kid, the one I told you about — who was he?"
Ned blinked. "The one the Hound guarded? Then it could only be one person. Not good news for you."
"Who?"
"Joffrey Baratheon," Ned said bitterly. "Or rather — Joffrey Lannister. The bastard who calls himself King."
"King?" Charles echoed, startled — but before he could say more, the world froze.
The air went still. The sound of waves, wind, even his heartbeat — vanished.
Then, gravity disappeared.
[Time in this world has expired. Returning to origin.]
Charles had just enough time to curse before everything went black.
"Not again— damn it!"