Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Asshai was a destination Viserys was resolute to reach. Deep within, he carried a vague conviction that it was the source of the world's magic.

On their journey, they paused briefly in Slaver's Bay. The Faith of the Harpy had been ruthlessly eradicated a few years prior, leaving it nearly extinct from Meereen to Astapor. Following the bloody suppression, the Faith had been all but obliterated. In its place, the Seven Sanctuaries and the Temple of the Lord of Light were swiftly constructed.

After exploring the area, Viserys and Daenerys departed. The seven grandchildren had left first, their excitement for Qarth evident. Since childhood, they had received birthday gifts from Qarth and often had one or two Qartheen servants attending to them. This lifelong connection had filled them with anticipation for the fabled city.

The azure sky above Slaver's Bay seemed to have long forgotten the smoke of war. The sea breeze carried the scent of freedom as countless sails unfurled. Nobles from all corners of the Bay gathered to bid farewell. Dust swirled as the two dragons, one golden and the other silver, stretched their wings and ascended, leaving the earth behind. The crowd watched in awe, their reverence rivaling the devotion found in any church or temple.

Among them, Missandei stood, her thoughts drifting as her gaze followed the dragons. She couldn't help but reflect on how everything she now had stemmed from that pivotal year. When Viserys had first doubted her, her world felt like it had crumbled. Yet, he had surprised everyone. Not only had he outmaneuvered the slaveowners and claimed the Unsullied, but he had also safeguarded his life through sheer cunning.

From that moment, Missandei's faith in Viserys solidified. She saw him as a benevolent and wise king.

"'Magic is becoming more unstable. Should we press on?" Daenerys asked, her voice tinged with concern.

As they continued eastward, the light began to dim. Even on clear mornings, the sun often seemed absent. Their grandchildren had been left in Qarth long before they departed, and they felt assured about the decision.

In Qarth, there was no force that could oppose House Targaryen. The family's power ensured their descendants could traverse the world unchallenged, a stark contrast to the struggles Viserys had endured. Still, Asshai was different—a place shrouded in foreboding. The grandchildren's youth and vulnerability were ill-suited for its sinister aura.

Viserys had ceded the throne to his son with startling swiftness, driven by an unyielding desire to uncover the origins of magic. The energy emanating from the Shadow Lands seemed volatile, as though it were spilling uncontrollably.

For years, Viserys had pondered the "red comet," the herald of the magic tide. But where had the tide originated? The answer seemed clear: Asshai.

The aftermath of the magic tide had sustained House Targaryen long after Valyria's fall. Even centuries later, it was why they had been able to hatch dozens of dragons. But the true source—the heart of this power—awaited in Asshai.

"Compared to Valyria's 5,000 years of dominance and the unknown period of its rise, this aftermath was incredibly short-lived," Viserys said, sharing his speculation with Dany.

"In other words, the aftermath of this magic tide ended just after the Dance of the Dragons concluded. Or... the Dragon Disaster might have just been... a scapegoat?" Dany hesitated, using a term she had learned from Viserys.

"Yes. I even suspect the ancestors of the Valyrians originally came from Asshai. Nowhere in the known world has more abundant resources than the Fourteen Flames," Viserys said, feeling closer than ever to uncovering the truth.

"So, what exactly causes the highest concentration of magic here?" Dany asked.

"Dimensions," Viserys replied.

"Dimensions?"

According to the map of the world of Ice and Fire, the land of Asshai is actually located in the planet's 'low latitude' region, logically speaking, the lower the latitude, the more abundant the sunlight.

Take the Summer Isles, for example—the people there are all incredibly dark-skinned because of this abundance of light.

But the Shadow Lands are peculiar. Why are they called the Shadow Lands?

But the Shadow Lands are an anomaly. Why are they called the Shadow Lands? If there is shadow, something must be blocking the light.

Viserys immediately thought of an astronomical phenomenon—tidal locking.

Viserys's mind immediately jumped to an astronomical theory: tidal locking. 'It could mean our planet has a moon. And if that's true...'

To verify his theory, they needed to continue their journey. Viserys even speculated that others might have arrived at similar conclusions. But what had the people of Asshai, where magic had never waned, attempted?

The thought filled him with anticipation and excitement. As Dany wanted to pack up the tent, her hand suddenly froze. She noticed a familiar shadow—Quaithe.

Dany instinctively reached for the hilt of her sword, her body tense. Viserys noticed her unease and followed her gaze. A woman in a black cloak and red mask stood not far away. Unlike the spectral vision Dany had encountered decades ago, this Quaithe was unmistakably real.

Forty years had passed since their last meeting. Now here she was again. Viserys couldn't help but wonder about her purpose.

Before he could speak, Quaithe stepped closer and gave a graceful bow. "Your Grace Viserys, Your Grace Daenerys."

Viserys, who had nearly mastered the power of the Night King, felt no apprehension. He observed her appearance and listened to her voice calmly. It reminded him of a cold, clear stream.

"You are Quaithe. What brings you to us?" he asked, offering no deference to the masked visitor.

He half-expected her to make a plea—perhaps to join Valyria's expeditions or request assistance of some sort. But Quaithe's purpose was entirely unexpected.

She wanted to perform a "moonwalk."

Not toward the bright moon visible at night, but to a celestial body they called the "Black Moon," which hovered over the Shadow Lands.

"We've tried countless methods," Quaithe explained, her voice tinged with frustration. "But it seems our planet pulls us back whenever we ascend. We can't rise beyond a certain altitude."

Her distress was palpable, but Viserys immediately understood their predicament.

"Congratulations," he said dryly. "You've discovered gravity."

Quaithe tilted her head slightly, as if the term was unfamiliar.

"That's because your ascent isn't fast enough to reach the first cosmic velocity, also known as orbital velocity. To escape your planet's gravitational pull, your speed must meet or exceed this velocity. Advancing our technology significantly—perhaps by a few centuries—might be necessary to achieve this," he added.

Dany watched her brother in amazement, as though seeing him for the first time. She had spent a lifetime with Viserys. Together, they had built a vast empire and raised seven children. Yet, these strange words—"first cosmic velocity" and "technological advancement"—were new and alien to her.

Brother, what is it like in the world you come from?

She looked at Quaithe, who seemed to know everything but was now acting like a desperate illiterate in front of Viserys.

"Three hundred years? Yes, that's nothing to me. Can you give me some direction?" Quaithe's tone betrayed an almost obsessive pursuit of the so-called black moon.

Seeing her react this way, Viserys realized this "astronaut" didn't quite grasp the point he was trying to make.

After a brief pause, he attempted to rephrase. "How many people are there in your... 'astronaut' organization?"

Though unfamiliar with the term astronaut, Quaithe understood the gist of his question. When it came to her organization, there was a hint of pride in her voice. Viserys could almost picture her expression beneath the mask.

"We have the world's largest wizard organization here. We would be delighted to have you join us, should you wish."

"Just tell me how many people you have," Viserys interrupted, impatient.

Before replying, Quaithe's chest rose slightly, as if she was drawing confidence from within.

"We have 2,000 powerful witches from all over the world."

Hearing this, Viserys nearly scoffed. He might not know much about "aerospace," but even he understood it was an industry that required the efforts of hundreds of thousands of individuals. It was an intellectually demanding field, reliant on tens of thousands of scientists working collaboratively.

These scientists took decades to train, supported by education systems refined over centuries. The technological advancements they achieved were the result of countless years of incremental progress.

In that light, Viserys thought, three hundred years was already a conservative estimate. Civilization wasn't a game where one could leap from the Stone Age to launching satellites overnight. However, acknowledging that this was a fantasy world, he conceded that some challenges might be overcome in ways he couldn't anticipate.

Still, he couldn't suppress his curiosity about Quaithe's sorcerer's guild of 2,000 members.

"According to Your Grace, not even a dragon can leave this planet?" Quaithe asked, her frustration evident. Although her understanding of such matters was limited, her mind was sharp enough to grasp the implications.

Viserys now understood her true intentions for contacting Dany: she wanted to borrow a dragon to go to the moon. She had even claimed to have a special potion for the dragon that could greatly enhance its power.

"It's useless," Viserys said bluntly. "The further you get from the ground, the thinner the air becomes. A dragon is like a swimmer—it needs its element. Without air, it cannot fly."

Realizing her plans were fundamentally flawed, Quaithe's demeanor visibly deflated, her aura shrinking, as if she'd lost half her confidence.

The Shadow Lands only received a brief window of sunlight each afternoon, perhaps three hours at most. Even during this time, volcanic ash and smoke shrouded the region, leaving the already sparse vegetation even more desolate.

Quaithe's sorcerer organization was based in a valley to the south of the Shadow Lands. There, the sorcerers had carved out their homes in the caves lining the valley walls.

Viserys and Dany landed their dragon on a hill to the west, overlooking the valley. Quaithe wasted no time and soon returned with a male sorcerer wearing a yellow mask.

"Does everyone here wear a mask?"

Viserys's tone carried a hint of displeasure as he scrutinized the man before him. His disdain was thinly veiled.

With looks like this, you still think you can go to the moon? he thought, his skepticism sharpening. This is a colossal undertaking that demands complete cooperation, and if this keeps up, even making it to the bedrock seems improbable.

But before he could linger too long in his contempt, the man in the yellow mask removed it.

Beneath was a lean, middle-aged man, likely in his fifties. His sharp, angular features gave Viserys the impression of an "old pedant"—serious and methodical.

"Your Grace Viserys," the man began, his voice steady and polite, "masks are a necessity in the Shadow Lands. If you don't mind, we have also prepared masks for Your Graces."

Quaithe stepped forward and produced two silver masks of a similar style from an unseen compartment, handing them to Viserys and Dany.

The explanation followed: the Magic of the Shadow Lands was volatile, even affecting the minds of those exposed to it. The sight of human faces for prolonged periods seemed to exacerbate the disorder of Magic. Here, they recognized each other primarily by their eyes.

The sorcerer in the yellow mask introduced himself as Yandor.

Viserys and Dany followed Yandor to his "cave." With a wave of his hand, the vines covering the entrance slithered away like living snakes. Viserys, accustomed to similar techniques unearthed in Valyria, barely batted an eye.

As the vines receded, a warm yellow light spilled out from within. The moment they stepped inside, the rich, distinct fragrance of herbs greeted them.

Above their heads hung enchanted yellow lamps, bathing the interior in a comforting glow. The cave revealed itself to be a surprisingly expansive greenhouse. Rows of herbs were carefully cultivated behind glass enclosures.

Through this lush "flower garden," the group moved deeper into the cave until they reached Yandor's personal quarters—or laboratory.

The walls of the laboratory were lined with shelves crammed with jars and bottles in all shapes and sizes. Some were squat and round; others had long, delicate necks.

From a small, well-organized box, Yandor carefully extracted two bottles no larger than eye drop containers. Inside, the liquid shimmered like molten gold, catching the overhead light.

Dany's eyes were immediately drawn to the golden potion, unable to look away.

"This is a potion I developed specifically for dragons," Yandor said casually. "It seems to have no practical use, so I offer it to you as a gift."

Viserys took the potion, inspecting it with mild curiosity before passing both bottles to Dany when he noticed her fascination.

"So, do you still plan to leave this place?" Viserys asked, watching Yandor intently.

"Yes," Yandor replied, his voice tinged with determination. "Your advice has inspired us to take a new approach. We have decided to forge a different path forward."

Viserys couldn't help but respect their tenacity.

The world moves forward because of people like this, he mused. If they truly create something extraordinary, I'll reap the benefits as well.

"Why not come back to Westeros with me? Or even Valyria?" Viserys proposed. "My people have been excavating the ruins of Doom for over twenty years now. There may be something there to aid you."

Viserys's Royal School of Magic, though boasting nearly 3,000 members, still struggled with the general weakness of its practitioners. Recruiting individuals like Quaithe and Yandor could exponentially accelerate the progress of excavating the Doom.

With their expertise, the development of the ruins could advance tenfold, Viserys thought, his mind already racing with the possibilities.