Even as he followed the column back through the iron gates of Harrenhal, the world continued to spin around Ser Galwyn Chambers.
He had never dared to dream that he, a mere second son of a merchant house, would actually be anointed a knight.
Let alone be knighted personally by the young lord who had just received his own spurs from the Prince of Dragonstone.
When Quentyn had commanded him to kneel and recite the vows, Galwyn barely comprehended the words ringing in his ears, nor did he remember the responses that slipped from his own tongue.
It was not until Billy Burley clapped him heavily on the back to offer congratulations on the ride home that the reality of the steel finally settled into his bones.
In that moment, Galwyn made a silent, ironclad vow.
If Quentyn ever commanded him to die, he would only ask his lord how he preferred the blood to be spilled before carrying out the order.
Meanwhile, Quentyn had just managed to escape the suffocating grasp of his parents.
Princess Vaella did not even spare a glance for the precious dragon egg.
The moment they crossed the threshold of Harrenhal, she frantically searched her son for any sign of injury or exhaustion.
Lord Daeron was out of breath as he clumsily unbuckled Quentyn’s heavy plate armor, bustling about with such frantic energy that even Prince Baelon could only stand quietly to the side.
Only after Quentyn had been thoroughly washed and settled did Lord Daeron finally remember his manners.
He greeted the Prince of Dragonstone with the proper etiquette, ordering the servants to fetch aged vintages from the cellar and whole roasted lambs to host Baelon and Vhagar.
On the terrace of the Wailing Tower.
The night breeze rolling off the Gods Eye carried a cool, comforting dampness, brushing gently against Quentyn’s face.
“If memory serves, Galwyn Chambers is a cloth merchant from King’s Landing, is he not?” Baelon stepped to Quentyn’s side, his face flushed from the drink, swirling a goblet of spiced wine he had brought up from the feast.
“He is.” Quentyn leaned against the stone balustrade, its surface smoothed and reshaped by ancient dragonfire, holding a cup of sweet fruit wine.
“He fought with unmatched ferocity in the vanguard today.
He contributed greatly to the victory, and he more than earned the title.” “Do you intend to have him manage your mercantile affairs?” “Nothing escapes your eyes, Your Grace.” Quentyn smiled faintly, raising his cup to tap the edge of Baelon’s goblet.
“He is a reliable enough merchant.
He can be trusted.” Baelon took a massive swallow, draining half his wine in a single breath.
Ziry rȳbagon Daemon, King’s Landing iksos sōve, yn daor.
(Regarding Daemon, King’s Landing has been searching these past few days, but with little success.) Baelon shifted effortlessly into High Valyrian.
Yn, īlon rȳbagon dōrī kesan ryptes.
However, we did root out some treacherous snakes spreading rumors against the Crown among the smallfolk, attempting to profit from the chaos.
Quentyn was not surprised by this outcome.
If the viper refuses to strike, it will naturally remain hidden in the shadows, assuming it even exists.
Yn bisa issa syt īlon; bisa rōva issa.
(But this is also an opportunity for us; fittingly, this rebellion is an opportunity as well.) “Oh?” Baelon tossed the rest of his wine down his throat, unconsciously rubbing his lower right ribs.
“You intend to use this uprising to force the Faith to the negotiating table?” Quentyn gave a slow nod.
“Whether they were true remnants of the Poor Fellows or just a mob of bandits, they marched beneath the seven-pointed star.
The Faith is obligated to answer the Iron Throne’s inquiries.
Even if they are entirely innocent, this remains an excellent blade to hold to their necks.” He tapped his cup gently against the stone.
“The Starry Sept should pay a heavy price for failing to restrain its flock.
After all, it was the lands of my father’s sworn vassals that were scorched, and the trust between the Faith and the Crown has been severely compromised.” “You are truly cunning,” Baelon noted, an unmistakable note of approval in his voice.
The two shared a quiet, knowing smile.
The moon slowly crested the horizon, bathing the night sky in pale silver.
The night at Harrenhal was anything but quiet.
To honor Baelon, Lord Daeron threw a lavish feast after sundown, ensuring Baelon and every knight and soldier who had bled that day were utterly drenched in wine.
Even the young fishermen who had rowed the fleet were rewarded with soft beds, hot bread, roasted meats, and strong ale.
During the feast, Baelon proposed that Quentyn fly back to King’s Landing with him on dragonback at dawn.
Daemon’s leg had shown miraculous improvement over the past few days, and Baelon harbored lingering anxieties, insisting Quentyn inspect the healing bone.
Once returning to the capital, Baelon would report to King Jaehaerys and prepare to confront the Starry Sept, while Quentyn would board the merchant cog Wanderer alongside Daemon and Gael to sail for Dragonstone.
Quentyn saw through the excuse instantly.
In truth, the Crown wanted to ensure Dragonstone was secure from whatever shadowy threat lingered in the capital, placing Quentyn and Daemon in a location safely removed from the eye of the storm yet close enough to respond if the realm bled.
Though Princess Vaella and Lord Daeron were deeply reluctant to part with him so soon, Quentyn extracted a promise to return swiftly, and they finally relented.
Late into the night, Quentyn lay back against his feather pillow.
The towering image of the Door surfaced within the depths of his mind.
He pushed against it.
It did not yield a single inch.
Just as I expected…
Quentyn stood before the massive gates in his consciousness, his fingers lightly tracing the intricate carvings.
Since deciphering the existence of his power, Quentyn had devoted countless hours to studying it.
He had pushed the doors open five times, witnessed three distinct cosmic scenes, and received five unique gifts.
The very first time, Quentyn had not even realized what condition he had met to trigger the awakening.
That was when he discovered the Door.
Upon pushing it open, he witnessed the towering giant tree, which bestowed upon him the Disease Immunity trait, rendering his body impervious to all known illnesses and toxins.
Later came the Night Owl trait, unlocked through sheer endurance and lack of sleep, followed by Lifeweaving, earned by curing the sick.
Quentyn categorized these three abilities under the blessing of the “Towering Tree.” Because he had drawn from it the most, he understood its domain best.
If I understand this correctly, the Towering Tree governs the domains of life and healing.
That means my very first time pushing the door open must have symbolized…
birth.
Quentyn brushed his hand over the bone-white half of the massive doors.
He had long suspected that his system was intimately tied to the ancient legends of Ice and Fire.
His proof lay in the design itself; he clearly recalled from the original lore that the temple of the Many-Faced God utilized this exact black-and-white motif.
His fingers swept over the carving of a shattered moon.
Pale flames bled from the lunar crust like fresh blood, pooling together to form a towering, pale weirwood.
Gathered around the roots were a myriad of strange figures.
Men crowned with antlers boasting hands carved from lapis lazuli.
Grotesque half-men, half-fish monstrosities.
Winged humans with leathery membranes stretching from their armpits.
Diminutive humanoids with unnaturally long, slender fingers draped in woven leaves.
Towering, massive giants.
And finally, tall, withered figures with milky-white skin and piercing blue eyes.
Beneath them sat seven brilliantly shining stars, and a single, blazing heart formed entirely of coagulated fire.
So, matters related to life, nature, and medicine are the keys to the Towering Tree’s blessings.
Once this season’s harvest matures, I can test if agricultural yields trigger it again.
He stepped past the seven stars, moving to the other side of the Door.
Photographic Memory was his third accumulated gift, and the first time he witnessed a different cosmic alignment.
Quentyn dubbed this scene the “Starry Sky of Knowledge.” Stars, books, and knowledge…
that one is straightforward enough.
Acquiring rare knowledge acts as the key to the Starry Sky.
Perhaps I should focus on collecting ancient tomes?
Judging by my experience with the Tree, it might grant me access to even older, forgotten lore.
The carvings on the pitch-black half of the door were far more complex and violent.
Beside a blackened sun, stars embedded with cold, staring eyes gazed downward.
A monstrous dragon forged of stone gripped a harpy in its talons, tearing away its wings while igniting a plump river mother in a torrent of flame.
Blood flowed like rivers, birthing eleven enchanting maidens who danced gracefully within the crimson sea.
Stepping back, Quentyn realized he was looking at a pantheon of god-kings staring down upon the world.
Their eyes were forged from precious gemstones.
A man with eyes of bloodstone.
A woman with eyes of pure amethyst.
They were arranged in a vertical hierarchy, trapped perfectly at the seam where the black and white doors met.
What Quentyn truly wanted to know now was exactly how many cosmic scenes this Door concealed.
As for Sword Mastery…
Feeling the lethal muscle memory now permanently etched into his arms, Quentyn furrowed his brow.
The blessing he called the “Long Night Meteor” provided a brutally effective reward, but the method of acquisition was deeply troubling.
If it is strictly related to combat…
no, that isn’t right.
Quentyn analyzed the exact moment the notification triggered.
Based on the conditions, the Long Night Meteor cannot be unlocked simply by crossing swords in a tourney or a skirmish.
Using a unique script known only to him, Quentyn traced two words in the air of his mind.
Revenge.
Punishing evil.
If the core triggers for the Long Night Meteor were indeed those two concepts, things would become complicated.
What was the exact standard for revenge?
How did the system define the punishment of extreme evil?
These were philosophical boundaries Quentyn needed to test carefully.
Furthermore, his experience with the Towering Tree proved that the threshold for unlocking each subsequent blessing increased exponentially.
At least I have grasped the foundational rules.
I can afford to experiment more boldly next time.
I simply wonder if there is a specific omen or scene tied to dragons…
Satisfied for the night, Quentyn closed his eyes.
The Night Owl blessing allowed him to fully restore his stamina with minimal rest, yet he was still a growing boy.
When he measured himself a week ago, he already stood at five feet and eight inches.
He fully expected to break six feet in the near future.
Therefore, he still needed to eat and sleep like a normal thirteen-year-old boy.
He slept deeply and without dreams.
The next morning, Quentyn finished a hearty breakfast and strode into the grand courtyard before the Kingspyre Tower.
Lord Daeron and Princess Vaella were already waiting.
Baelon stood between Quentyn’s parents, nodding respectfully to their words.
“Rest easy, Aunt Vaella.
I shall look after little Quentyn as if he were my own.” Baelon raised his voice slightly as he caught sight of the boy.
Quentyn found himself momentarily speechless.
Princess Vaella grasped Baelon’s hands tightly in gratitude before rushing forward to pull Quentyn into a fierce embrace.
A mother’s embrace was always overwhelmingly warm and grounding.
Even though Quentyn was now noticeably taller than Princess Vaella, he leaned into the hug without the slightest resistance.
After a long moment, Princess Vaella released him, reaching up to gently pinch his cheek.
From the time he was a toddler, she had known her son was extraordinary.
It filled her with an agonizing mixture of boundless pride and deep terror.
Much like her husband, Princess Vaella was not a cold, calculating woman.
She was constantly torn between wanting to shield her son from the world’s cruelty and knowing she had to let him fly free to conquer it.
Now that her son had made his choice, she found herself choked with emotion.
Ultimately, a thousand words collapsed into a single, trembling sentence.
“Come home soon.
Keep yourself safe, and listen to your cousin.” “Your mother’s words are my own.” Lord Daeron stepped forward.
Instead of pulling the boy into a hug, he reached out and gave Quentyn’s armored arm a firm, heavy pat.
“I am sorry I shamed you yesterday.” Quentyn shook his head firmly.
“No, Father.
You had your burdens to weigh.
But your son is capable of carrying more now.” Lord Daeron nodded, a profound sense of relief washing over his tired features.
The two parents stepped back, clearing a wide berth for the dragon.
Vhagar’s sagging throat vibrated, unleashing a low, bone-rattling rumble.
Though the ancient beast did not fully stretch her wings in the shadow of Harrenhal, her sheer mass was utterly terrifying.
Her small, piercing yellow eyes locked onto Quentyn.
The massive head, large enough to swallow a destrier whole, slowly leaned down.
To the shock of the courtyard, the dragon gently nudged Quentyn’s back with her snout before pulling away, lowering her massive shoulder to allow Baelon and Quentyn to mount.
“It seems Vhagar is quite fond of you.” Baelon offered a wry smile, grabbing the thick rope ladder draped across the dragon’s scales.