101 AC, the weather grew even hotter.
Before the dawn mist had fully dissipated, Raymond crept into the kitchen.
Vera heard his familiar footsteps, and without raising her head, her voice hoarse yet warm, she said, "I left breakfast for you on the table."
Under the familiar ceramic bowl was a bulging oilskin package.
Peeling back the oilskin revealed a whole honey cake with an inviting color—a luxurious delicacy in this port city where salted fish and black bread were the staple foods.
"Aunt Vera, you... you don't need to go to all this trouble... just leave it to the servants." Raymond's throat tightened, his voice muffled.
"How can I do that? I was instructed by Lady Saenira to take care of you; I can't be lazy." Vera turned around, her eyes, etched with the marks of time, gazed at him gently, her rough fingers unconsciously caressing the wooden spoon in her hand.
She sighed, "Raymond, are you... leaving?" The wooden spoon lightly tapped the rim of the pot, making a faint sound, as if speaking the myriad unspoken words for her.
Raymond lowered his head and nodded silently.
"Ah..." Vera's worry could no longer be hidden. "I heard those people are recently seizing people to 'treasure hunt' in the Valyrian ruins... Many have already died there... Although you have a good relationship with the Elephant Party, their disputes won't care about that."
"I must go!" Raymond suddenly looked up, a determined flame burning in his eyes. "I don't want to live a plain life forever! No matter how dangerous, I cannot give up! Even if it's more dangerous, I have to take a gamble!"
Vera looked at the boy's stubborn expression, her lips moving slightly, but in the end, all words of dissuasion turned into a heavy admonition: "...Alright. Raymond, you must be careful... You must come back safely..." She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, forcing back the tears that were about to spill.
Raymond looked at Vera, his heart heavy. Since he could remember, his birth mother Saenira had rarely paid attention to him. It was Vera, this busy cook by the stove, who, with her calloused hands and the passing years, filled the void in his life and raised him. How many late nights did she mend his ragged clothes under a dim oil lamp; how many times did she acquire the parchment that allowed him to read and write. It wasn't until a few years ago, when he began to make his plans, that his life started to improve.
"Aunt Vera..." A myriad of gratitude and bitterness choked him, but he didn't know how to express it.
"Alright, alright! Hurry up and go!" Vera abruptly turned away, almost roughly grabbing a ceramic bowl and scrubbing it hard in the sink, her shoulders taut, as if resisting some surging emotion.
Her voice carried an almost imperceptible tremor, more like a blessing whispered to the waves: "Go, Raymond! May the gods protect you!... May you finally fly to your own sky..."
Raymond carefully wrapped the honey cake, put it in his satchel, turned, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Arriving at the port, the salty sea breeze, laden with the strong smell of fish, hit his face. He was disguised, having dyed his hair black, and blended into the crowd of laborers carrying heavy sacks on the dock, thereby avoiding the attention of those who might be watching—as the son of a Targaryen princess, even if illegitimate, he couldn't go unnoticed.
The rough outline of the smuggling ship, the "Mussel," came into view. This was a ship belonging to a small smuggling group he secretly controlled; their navigation routes for the past year had all been arranged by him—though they didn't know he was the one behind it.
Only by using such a ship, completely under his control, could Raymond safely cross the "Smoking Sea" and avoid the eyes of those in Volantis to reach the Valyrian ruins.
After a day of hiding, the bright moon hung high, and it was finally time to set sail.
The "Mussel" left the port. Raymond stood on the deck, looking back at Volantis. The myriad lights, like stars scattered across the sea, gradually blurred, finally converging into a faint band of light on the horizon.
Raymond unconsciously fumbled for the cold, hard three-headed dragon emblem hidden deep in his collar—he had found it among the old discarded items of Saenira.
His fingertips felt the intricate dragon patterns, and a strange tremor went straight to his heart. In a trance... he seemed to truly hear the roar of ancient dragons echoing low in his ears, transcending time and space.
He clenched his fists, his voice hoarse but with an almost insane growl: "To hell with the Targaryen bloodline! I'm going to fly above everyone's heads! I'm going to crush this utterly rotten world!" Perhaps the mad genes deep within his bloodline had finally caught the call of destiny and began to awaken within him, even the soul containing the red genes could barely be suppressed.
The voyage was bumpy and long. When the "Mussel" reached a supply point on the Valyrian coast, it was already noon three days later. Raymond took the opportunity to leave and head towards his goal.
The scorching sun baked the earth, and the air was heavy with no sign of movement. He spread out the parchment map in his hand, softened by sweat, deciphering the blurred markings, and walked deeper into the inland wilderness.
"I hope the people who came before didn't empty this place, but... from the original story, people were still finding treasures here two hundred years later. There should be more now, right?" Raymond thought as he looked at the map.
This time, he brought no subordinates and embarked on the journey alone.