Chapter 2 – Fangs of Braavos
Morning crept slowly across Braavos, pale light seeping through the fog that hugged the canals. The city was alive with noise—the creak of ships, the shouts of fishmongers, the clatter of hooves on stone bridges. And yet, in one shadowed corner of the Ragman's Harbor, a silver-haired boy crouched low, his violet eyes scanning the crowds like a hawk among pigeons.
Vaeryn.
The name echoed in his mind, resonating with the fire that had awoken within him last night. He had survived, killed, and claimed something more than life. He had claimed a beginning.
But beginnings did not feed empty stomachs.
His ribs ached from hunger, and every breath felt shallow. Yet the System's cold voice rang again, cutting through the fog in his mind.
> [Daily Quest Generated: Feed Yourself.]
Conditions: Acquire food through any means necessary.]
Reward: System Credit +1 | Skill Progression Unlocked.]
Food. It was all that mattered now.
He slipped into the market square, his small frame weaving through sailors and merchants. He eyed a basket of bread on a stall, steam still rising from its crust. The merchant's back was turned. Vaeryn darted forward—quick as a rat, silent as shadow—snatched a loaf, and bolted.
"Thief!" the merchant roared, lunging.
But Vaeryn was already gone, darting into alleys, leaping over crates, vanishing into fog. He tore into the bread with sharp teeth, crumbs scattering, warmth filling his belly for the first time in days. His eyes burned as he devoured it, not from shame but from something harder: resolve.
He would never starve again.
The System chimed once more.
> [Quest Complete.]
[Reward: Credit +1 | Skill Progression Unlocked: Street Survival Lv.1]
A faint warmth filled his limbs. His movements felt sharper, lighter, more precise. Every shadow, every whisper of sound seemed clearer, as though Braavos itself had opened its secrets to him.
That night, he returned to the alleys where he had fought the gang. The bodies were gone, tossed into the canal. The others hadn't returned. Good. Fear was a weapon—and he would sharpen it.
But survival alone wasn't enough. Survival was what rats did. He wasn't a rat anymore. He was Vaeryn Maeloris.
And he would need fangs.
---
Days bled into weeks. Vaeryn learned quickly. He stole with precision, slipping into shadows and out again before anyone noticed. He bartered scraps of silver trinkets, learning the value of coin. He watched Braavosi swordsmen practice the Water Dance along the canals, their blades flickering like ribbons of light. And he mimicked them, alone, swinging rusted steel until his muscles screamed.
One evening, as he practiced in the fog, a voice drifted behind him.
"Too stiff."
Vaeryn froze. A thin man stepped into view, his steps silent as water. His hair was black, his beard streaked with silver, his eyes sharp and amused. A sword hung loosely at his hip.
"You move like a starving dog," the man continued in a smooth Braavosi accent. "But there is fire in your eyes. Valyrian fire."
Vaeryn narrowed his gaze but said nothing.
The man chuckled. "Do not look at me so. I will not cut you down. Not yet." He unsheathed his sword—a slender blade that gleamed in the moonlight. With fluid grace, he moved, each step like a dance, the steel whispering through the air. "This is the Water Dance, boy. The blade must flow like tide and strike like storm."
He lowered his sword, eyes glinting. "Remember this: fear makes prey stumble, but precision makes hunters kings."
Then, without another word, he vanished into the fog, leaving only silence.
Vaeryn's fists tightened. He didn't know if the man was mocking him or testing him, but one thing was certain—he would learn. He would master this city's blade, then sharpen it with the fire in his blood.
The System answered his resolve.
> [Hidden Path Detected: Swordsmanship Progression.]
[First Step: Deliver your first deliberate kill.]
Reward: Blood Purification Lv.1 | Skill Unlock: Blade Instinct.]
A kill. Not survival, not accident—deliberate, cold, chosen.
That night, he found his prey.
A drunk slaver stumbled along the docks, heavy purse jingling at his hip. Vaeryn's eyes locked on him, the world narrowing into silence. His hands itched, his breath slowed, his heart steady.
He followed the man into an alley.
"Who's there?" the slaver slurred, turning. His eyes widened at the sight of the pale-haired boy. "What do you—"
The blade slid into his throat before the words finished. Rusted, jagged steel, but driven with precision. Blood sprayed hot across Vaeryn's hands, and the man gurgled, collapsing.
The boy didn't flinch. His eyes were cold, steady, watching the life fade.
The System's voice rang.
> [Quest Complete: First Kill.]
[Reward: Blood Purification Lv.1 | Skill Unlocked: Blade Instinct Lv.1]
Heat surged through his veins, sharper than before. His blood sang with power. His reflection in the slaver's pooling blood glowed—hair brighter, eyes sharper, something… more Valyrian.
For the first time, Vaeryn smiled. Not out of joy, but out of certainty.
Braavos would no longer chew him apart. Braavos would feed him. And when the time came, Essos, then Westeros, then the world itself—would bend before him.
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