Viserys awoke from his sleep in the hammock, sensing a muddled current of water magic in the air.
Judging by its direction and intensity, they were close to Chroyane.
He rubbed his face and stepped out onto the deck.
"Your Majesty."
The one on watch was Clement, who immediately bowed when he saw Viserys.
"How long until we reach Chroyane?" Viserys asked.
Clement glanced at the sky, then at the map. "If everything goes smoothly, we should arrive tomorrow morning."
Viserys estimated their current distance. The strength of the water magic here was clearly greater than around Nasar.
That was only natural—there was a being here who had condensed a divine spark.
Once Viserys was awake, the others rose as well, regardless of how well they had rested. Anticipating a possible battle, he ordered everyone to eat early.
When the rising sun gilded the clouds at the horizon, the fleet entered the Sorrows of Chroyane.
Ruins loomed faintly within the green-gray mist.
Though destroyed for more than a thousand years, the remains—like the bones of titans—still offered a glimpse of Chroyane's former splendor.
With careful observation, one could even spot flickering figures among the ruins. Those were likely the stone men who wandered the area.
Suddenly, the gray mist ahead began to churn.
The soldiers on watch drew their bows.
"Your Majesty, those look like merchant ships," Lothan said beside Viserys.
Indeed, even under the threat of greyscale, small merchant vessels still passed through the Sorrows. This stretch was a necessary route between the upper and lower Rhoyne.
As long as one avoided falling into the water or being attacked by stone men, the risk of infection was not especially high.
The captain of the oncoming merchant ship, seeing the black sails emblazoned with the three-headed dragon, instinctively ordered his crew to steer aside.
Yet one ship continued toward them.
"Captain, it looks like they're coming straight at us."
"Don't panic," the captain said calmly. "This should be a noble fleet."
Soon, he saw a white-cloaked warrior in silver armor, striking and imposing, with an interpreter at his side.
Before the knight spoke, he tossed over a small pouch of coins.
The captain caught it, weighing it in his hand with satisfaction.
"Captain," the knight said, the interpreter translating into Valyrian, "how are conditions in the Sorrows today?"
"All is normal today, my lord," the captain replied.
The knight nodded and said something quietly to those beside him.
The captain, pleased with the weight of the pouch, thought the noble quite generous—being paid so well just for answering a question.
Before he could open it to inspect the contents, the knight spoke again.
"We ask that you guide us through the Sorrows to the lower reaches. There will be further payment afterward."
The interpreter conveyed the request faithfully.
This time, the captain hesitated inwardly, though he showed nothing on his face. It was obvious he had no real choice but to agree.
"That's great, Captain. We'll earn even more money!" a sailor said excitedly.
"Shut up," the captain snapped. "What do you know? Everyone's luck is limited. We've already made it through once—going back will consume more luck than crossing Chroyane twice."
Those who made their living at sea were often superstitious, and this captain firmly believed in the idea of finite luck.
Still, he had no courage to defy nobles. He could only turn his ship around and prepare to head back.
This was precisely Viserys's intention.
After all, they had just come out of Chroyane. No one would know the route better.
Before entering the mist, more than a dozen ships were linked bow to stern with iron chains, including the merchant vessel.
Braziers were lit as well, making it easier to track each other's positions.
Soon, all the ships plunged into the green-gray fog. Inside the ruins, the world felt entirely different.
The mist within the Sorrows was even thicker.
The merchant captain at the lead moved with extreme caution, slowing his ship to a crawl, like a blind man groping forward.
Viserys did not urge him on. This was no time for haste.
Arthur stood at the bow as always, eyes wide, scanning the surroundings.
Lothan knelt on the deck, eyes closed, as if listening to something. Viserys knew he was sensing the water magic within the Sorrows.
"What a cursed place," Clement muttered. Marcus nodded in agreement beside him.
"What's there to fear about a little mist?" Gorys said disdainfully.
His inner potential had been fully awakened, and through diligence his strength now surpassed that of ordinary elite swordsmen.
He tended the brazier on the ship, his gaze toward Viserys's vessel filled with admiration.
Clement and Marcus heard him but dared not retort.
Mainly because they knew they would lose.
When the fleet first entered the mist, those in the middle could still see the braziers of nearly every ship.
But as they went deeper, the number of visible lights dwindled rapidly. Before long, they could see only three or four ships ahead and behind.
As the fleet advanced, something enormous rose from the water.
Jagged and towering, like a hill.
Its surface was carpeted with moss, and dark openings resembling doors and windows were draped with lichen-like growths.
"That must be the Palace of Sorrow," Clement said, gazing at the ruined yet still majestic structure.
From the elegant bridge piers, delicate arches, carved columns, and even faintly discernible balconies and pavilions, the group reconstructed the palace's former glory in their minds.
It was a splendor no castle in Westeros could rival. Above the palace rose many spires like lances.
As the fleet pressed on, more and more of those spires appeared broken.
At that moment, the merchant captain at the bow spotted light ahead and called back loudly.
"My lord, the Bridge of Dreams is ahead. Please prepare some food."
Viserys raised his spyglass and looked toward the Bridge of Dreams. It spanned the Rhoyne, but had collapsed at its center.
Faint figures moved upon the bridge.
"Your Majesty, those are hungry stone men," Lothan said. "We should throw them some food."
Viserys did not answer immediately.
Through the spyglass, he noticed something strange.
The stone men's gazes were not fixed on the fleet as a whole— They were fixed on him.
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