Five days before Thaddues departed for Salt Shore. Night had settled over the Shadow City like a dark silk veil draped across Sunspear's lower streets.
Even at such an hour, the city remained awake.
Lanterns of orange and red burned outside taverns and wine sinks, casting wavering light across narrow alleys filled with merchants, sailors, gamblers, and wandering sellswords. The warm air carried a dense mix of scents—spiced wine, roasted lamb, sweat, smoke, and the faint salt of the sea drifting in from the harbor.
Music drifted through the streets, followed by bursts of laughter.
Women in flowing Dornish silks leaned from balconies or lounged in doorways, painted eyes tracking every passing man. Some offered quiet smiles; others more direct invitations, bracelets chiming softly as they moved.
Nearby, traders still haggled despite the hour, while drunken sailors swayed between taverns with half-empty cups in hand. The Shadow City never truly slept. It only changed its face when the sun went down.
A black carriage rolled steadily through the crowded streets, its wheels clattering softly against old stone roads.
Inside, Thaddues sat quietly beneath the dim glow of a hanging lantern.
In his hands rested the final pages of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. He turned the final page slowly. At last, he had reached the end.
For a brief moment, silence filled the carriage aside from the muffled sounds outside.
Then the carriage came to a halt.
"My lord, we've arrived at the place," Esteban's voice called from outside.
Thaddues closed the book and set it aside before stepping out into the warm Dornish night.
Before him stood a familiar merchant establishment near the heart of the Shadow City. Several nights ago, it had merely appeared as a wealthy trading house where gold dragons exchanged hands behind polite smiles and hidden intentions.
Tonight, however, the place was overflowing with activity.
Fine carriages lined the street outside the building. Guards bearing spears stood watch near the entrance while servants moved hurriedly between arriving guests. Wealthy merchants draped in expensive silks climbed the stone steps alongside lesser nobles from across Dorne.
Clearly, the auction had drawn far more attention than he expected.
Thaddues adjusted the sleeves of his dark robe before walking toward the entrance, Esteban following closely behind.
The guard stationed near the doorway raised a hand to stop them.
"Invitation?"
Without a word, Thaddues retrieved the folded parchment from within his robe and handed it over. It was a formal invitation sent to him two nights ago for this Auction.
The guard examined the seal carefully before his expression immediately changed.
"My apologies, my lord," he said respectfully, stepping aside. "The auction hall is through the eastern corridor. Third door on the right."
Thaddues nodded once before continuing forward.
The interior of the establishment differed greatly from the noisy streets outside.
Cool air drifted through long sandstone corridors decorated with hanging Dornish tapestries. Brass lanterns lined the walls, their golden light reflecting against polished marble floors streaked with red and orange patterns resembling desert flames.
Servants carrying silver trays moved quietly between guests, offering wine from the Arbor and sweet Dornish reds alike.
Eventually, Thaddues reached the auction hall itself.
The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted entirely.
The hall was vast, built in the distinct style favored by wealthy Dornish elites. Slender pillars carved from pale sandstone supported a domed ceiling painted with scenes of Nymeria's fleet crossing the sea. Silk banners in shades of crimson, copper, and gold hung between the columns, swaying gently beneath the breeze drifting through open lattice windows.
At the center stood a raised stage illuminated by dozens of oil lamps.
Rows of cushioned seats surrounded it in descending levels, already filled with wealthy attendees.
Nobles from lesser Dornish houses occupied the front rows beside influential merchants and foreign traders from across the Narrow Sea. Expensive jewelry glittered beneath the lamplight while servants poured wine behind them.
The low murmur of conversation filled the chamber.
Esteban's eyes quietly swept across the hall.
"That man near the front is from House Allyrion," he muttered softly. "And beside him… House Vaith, if I remember correctly."
His gaze shifted again.
"There are men from Planky Town as well. Wealthy spice traders."
Thaddues merely nodded.
As they moved deeper into the hall, several individuals glanced toward him with faint curiosity.
Some seemed to recognize him, they might have attended the banquet in the Palace of the Sun. Some got information from the auction house about its invited people.
They saw him as a young foreign noble spending gold freely within the Shadow City.
Yet none approached him directly.
Thaddeus and Esteban eventually found seats several rows from the front.
Not long after, the auction began.
An older man dressed in flowing orange-and-gold robes stepped onto the stage, smiling broadly at the gathered crowd.
"My honored guests," the herald proclaimed loudly, his jeweled sleeves spreading wide beneath the lantern glow. "Tonight, Sunspear welcomes treasures gathered from every corner of Westeros, from the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea, and from the burning sands of Dorne itself!"
Applause followed.
The first items soon appeared.
A Myrish looking glass framed with silver.
A jeweled dagger supposedly forged in Norvos.
Ancient Rhoynish pottery recovered from river ruins near the Greenblood.
A ceremonial spear claimed to have once belonged to a warrior who fought beneath House Martell generations ago.
The bidding rose steadily with each item.
"Forty dragons!"
"Fifty!"
"Sixty-five!"
The hall gradually grew more animated as wine flowed more freely.
Still, none of the items truly interested Thaddeus.
Most were little more than expensive decorations meant to flatter the vanity of wealthy collectors.
Even the Valyrian steel dagger presented midway through the auction proved disappointing—a decorative blade with no notable history attached to it.
As another artifact was carried away, Thaddues leaned slightly toward Esteban.
"Will they truly auction land?" he asked quietly.
That had been the entire reason for attending tonight.
The merchant several days ago strongly implied an opportunity involving territory in Dorne. He had little interest in trinkets or old relics unless it's magical artifact which he doubt will be auctioned in a place like this.
Esteban hesitated before shaking his head.
"It may be possible, my lord," he admitted carefully. "But also unlikely. Lands in Dorne cannot simply be auctioned publicly. Such matters require approval from ruling houses and the Prince of Dorne himself."
His expression darkened slightly.
"To sell land openly like common goods would invite problems."
Thaddues frowned faintly.
Then what exactly was the point of this gathering?
Had the invitation merely been bait to lure wealthy guests into wasting gold dragons on overpriced luxuries?
The thought irritated him slightly.
It was then that movement stirred near the back of the stage.
Several workers began pushing forward a wooden cart covered with dark cloth.
The herald's expression brightened immediately.
"Now," the herald declared with theatrical flourish, his voice echoing through the torchlit hall, "we come upon something truly rare—even by the tastes of Sunspear and the Shadow City!"
The murmurs within the hall quieted.
"With great effort, heavy coin, and no small measure of blood spilled upon the seas, voyagers returning from the distant reaches of Essos have delivered unto Sunspear a relic unlike any other!"
The cloth was pulled away.
Resting atop the cart was a strange, round mass of dark stone with a bronze crown half-buried within it, as though fused together by heat and time itself.
Time had darkened the metal to a deep greenish-brown, while cracks and weathered scars spread across its surface. Faint engravings circled the outer rim of the crown, their patterns worn so smooth by age that they could no longer be clearly recognized.
"This crown," the herald proclaimed with rising pride, his voice carrying over the hushed crowd, "may yet trace its origins back to the Bronze Age itself—older than the histories sung in the halls of Oldtown!"
Several people raised skeptical brows.
The herald continued regardless.
"Though it holds no gold or gemstone fire," the herald said with a smooth, assured smile, "to those who know the value of history… it is a treasure no gold could ever hope to match."
His words became increasingly flowery after that, clearly aimed toward the older nobles and collectors seated throughout the hall.
Thaddues could practically hear the desperation beneath the performance.
It did not take much to guess the truth.
Some fool voyager had likely sold the thing to the merchants at an outrageous price while claiming it to be an ancient treasure from forgotten kingdoms across Essos. After discovering it possessed little actual value, they were now attempting to recover their losses through the auction.
Most of the crowd appeared unconvinced.
"Starting bid," the herald announced quickly, "five gold dragons!"
"Twenty gold dragons," an older man called lazily after a short silence.
"Twenty-five," another voice followed.
"Thirty."
The bidding slowed almost immediately after that.
Many guests looked amused more than interested.
To them, it was little more than a useless old crown trapped inside a rock.
But Thaddues' eyes had narrowed the moment his gaze landed on the artifact.
It was not the crown that captured his attention.
It was the stone.
He felt it—faint and old, like something half-asleep just beneath the world's skin. But it was there. Magic.
Not the familiar kind of magic he knew through his own mastery, but something older—stranger. It didn't feel present so much as distant, like echoes buried under centuries of dust.
That alone made it worth more than every item auctioned tonight combined.
His heartbeat quickened slightly.
"One hundred gold dragons."
The words left his mouth without hesitation.
Silence immediately descended across the auction hall.
Even the herald blinked in shock.
Thirty gold dragons had already seemed excessive for what most considered junk. But one hundred?
Several nobles turned sharply toward Thaddues.
Others stared openly now, whispering among themselves.
"Who is that?"
"Has the boy lost his senses?"
"One hundred dragons for a broken crown?"
"He looks familiar… where have I seen him before?"
Beside him, even Esteban looked momentarily stunned.
But Thaddues ignored every gaze directed toward him.
His attention never left the artifact.
The herald recovered first.
A wide smile spread across his face so quickly it nearly looked painful.
"One hundred gold dragons!" he called, voice ringing through the hall. "Do I hear any higher bids?"
Silence.
Not a single voice answered.
The herald struck the table with his staff, the sound snapping through the chamber like a final word.
"Sold—to the young lord!"
A few scattered murmurs followed, though many still looked baffled.
Thaddues remained calm outwardly, but inwardly his thoughts had already drifted far from the auction hall.
What exactly was hidden within that stone?
What civilization had created it?
And more importantly…if it's from the age of bronze, why could he sense magic lingering inside it after so many centuries?
The remainder of the auction passed without incident.
Once everything concluded, night had arrived. Servants carefully transferred the stone-bound crown into a reinforced wooden crate.
Thaddues left its transportation to Esteban and several hired workers while he returned to the courtyard inn where they had been staying within the Shadow City by apparating.
The night had grown quiter by the time he arrived. Moonlight spilled across the inn's courtyard while lanterns flickered softly beneath the arches.
Standing near the entrance was Isolde, waiting. The moment she saw him approach, she stepped forward.
"My lord," she said, bowing her head slightly. "A raven arrived from Salt Shore."
She handed him the sealed letter.
Thaddues broke the seal and quickly read its contents beneath the lantern light.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
At last, things were finally moving.
He folded the letter neatly before turning toward Isolde.
"Tell Esteban to prepare the carriages before morning rises," Thaddues said calmly.
Isolde straightened immediately but asked.
"We're leaving the Shadow City my Lord?"
Thaddues nodded.
"Yes," he replied.
"We begin our journey to Salt Shore immediately."
TBC
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