The sound of waves crashing against sand drew my attention, and I turned to the distance. If we had landed a bit further south, we would have landed on what looked like a beach, or the remnants of one. The lava lakes that crisscrossed the entire land like a delta found their ends at the sea.
The combination of magma and seawater resulted in the creation of blackish rocks that dotted the shoreline. I narrowed my eyes and peered further and saw the outlines of ships. Not one, or two, or even three. There were dozens of them. Half-rotted masts, burnt and ruined sails, and creaky empty hulks dotted the landscape, only partially hidden by the near-constant smog.
How many treasure hunters had come upon these shores in search of the gifts of the Valyrian Freehold? How many had died for that greed and desire? More than anyone bothered to count, that was certain. I considered summoning my bats and using them to scout by skin-changing, but I doubted they were resilient enough to survive Valyria.
"My assumption is correct. These are Lannister colors."
"Lannister?" Isaac replied to the Archmaester as he watched the older man squat to further check the corpse. "What would one of the great houses of your land be doing this far away from Westeros?"
I raised an eyebrow at the insightful question. Isaac knew about the great houses and the rest of Westeros. I suppose it was not a surprise in itself, yet that initiative once again reminded me that these were living and breathing people with plans and agendas of their own. I was fortunate that a great majority of those agendas were geared toward serving me.
Marwyn gave Isaac's question a thought before he replied. "If I were to guess, he was part of Gerion Lannister's doomed expedition to Valyria, an expedition that was supposed to reclaim the Valyrian greatsword Brightroar alongside a host of other lost treasures. It seems like they found their way here after all. Leaving must have been the issue."
"How long has he been dead?" I questioned as Marwyn rifled through the dead man's garments.
"Anywhere from within a few weeks to a few months, maybe even years," Marwyn started as he used his gloved hand to check the corpse's cavities, opening his mouth to inspect his tongue, poking into the gashes torn into the breastplate and then the chest.
"The body has been somewhat mummified due to the extreme heat, which helped in preserving the corpse. However, I'm not certain it's just the heat. I feel like the magic here also has something to do with its preservation. And that's not all. Its injuries... whatever made them was no animal."
Isaac peered over Marwyn's shoulder, then hummed in response before speaking. "The body was not feasted upon, Master Dracula. The man was simply killed and left behind."
I nodded in understanding as I began to walk forward once more. We had gotten everything we could from the man. I led while Marwyn and Isaac followed after me. I could feel the worry in Marwyn's figure. Unlike him, Isaac was more relaxed, both from confidence in his own abilities and in my presence.
The further we walked inland, the more ruined buildings we were greeted by. Most of them had been so badly wrecked by the Doom that they were death traps in themselves. The rivers of magma that swam across the land were our major source of light. The farther we walked on the dragon road, the more corpses we saw. A vast majority of them seemed to have died painful deaths, judging by the contortion of their bodies.
The corrupted magic of the land twisted them from the inside, while the poisonous smog killed them. I was certain at least a few must have survived, judging by the strange, mismatched footprints I caught more than once on the ground. The second thing of note were the banners, discarded weapons, and mummified corpses. A vast majority of them seemed to have come from the Lannister expedition. Unlike the rest of the older corpses, they seemed to have been well prepared for Valyria.
They had very medieval and primitive gas masks on their faces, and while I doubted the strength of their magical protections against the chaos-tinged air, if they were quick, they should have been able to leave at least. Instead, it seemed that they had been killed. Most of them bore the claw-shaped scars of the first corpse, as something powerful enough to gouge steel plate tore them apart.
I raised a hand a second later as my ears twitched. Isaac and Marwyn came to a stop behind me. Marwyn brought out a heavy crossbow from within his cloak, while Isaac unsheathed both Longclaw and his forge dagger, dual-wielding the two blades.
It took me an actual heartbeat to recognize what I heard. A strange heartbeat, not too far. My head turned with deliberate slowness as I faced where the heartbeat originated from. On top of one of the ruined buildings lay a small figure. It was crouched, its body low and partially hidden, camouflaged owing to the scale-like texture of its skin.
Reptilian eyes narrowed in surprise as it realized I had spotted it, then it hissed before darting away. I considered following after it for a second before I shrugged my shoulders and continued my march forward instead. There was no hurry. I had the feeling I would be seeing it again.
The ripped corpses, destroyed swords, and broken banners that lined the dragon road led us forward. The ruins gave way to a crumbled courtyard as we crested a rise in the dragon road. Where everything else had been reduced to rubble and melted stone, the manse stood defiant against the Doom that had claimed Valyria.
It was a summer manse judging by its look, and it rose three stories high, its architecture a testament to Valyrian mastery. Unlike the squared, practical designs of Westerosi castles, this building seemed to flow like water. Sweeping arches curved stone without visible support. The walls were constructed from fused dragonstone and black as midnight.
Beautifully crafted columns framed the entrance, the two on each end carved to resemble dragons in flight, their wings wrapping around the pillars in an endless ascent. The roof looked like it had partially collapsed on one corner, but it still bore tiles of volcanic glass that reflected the glow of nearby lava flows.
Balconies jutted from the upper floors at angles that seemed to defy gravity, connected by bridges so delicate they appeared spun from stone rather than carved. I could see the glaring similarity between Valyrian construction and Castlevania. It was close, but only so.
"Remarkable," Marwyn breathed, his academic curiosity momentarily overriding his caution. "The preservation... it shouldn't be possible."
He was right. It had been four hundred years since the Doom. While other structures had been reduced to slag or shattered by the cataclysm that had befallen Valyria, this manse stood relatively intact. Damaged, yes, but recognizable as what it once was.
The entrance was sealed, heavy doors of some dark metal barred and reinforced from within. But the work was crude, desperate, planks of wood nailed haphazardly across the frame, gaps stuffed with torn fabric and what looked like furniture fragments. This was not the methodical beauty of Valyrian architecture; this was more... human.
"I don't suppose we knock?" Marwyn asked.
Instead of a reply, I took a step forward for a moment. It was strong. Hastily done as it was, it seemed that whatever magic preserved the manse had overlapped with it. Still, I lifted my leg and kicked.
The door exploded inward with a crash that echoed through the manse's interior, sending splinters and dust cascading across black marble floors. The sound seemed to be swallowed by the structure itself, as it dulled the thunderous blow into what seemed like a gentle knock. Another enchantment?
We stepped inside.
The entrance hall stretched before us, still grand despite the decay. The marble floors were inlaid with patterns of precious metals, gold, silver, and something that shimmered like moonlight made solid.
Columns lined the hall, each carved from a single piece of stone and depicting beautiful and strange scenes: dragons in flight, chimeric beasts with no reason, and figures with strange geometries. The ceiling hung overhead, sections of it still bearing frescoes of a sky filled with dragons, though much had flaked away or been blackened by smoke, while the rest was cracked and destroyed.
Whatever furniture that had survived both the Doom and hadn't been used to barricade the door had been reduced to skeletal frames. But here and there, items persisted: a side table of some crystalline substance that resembled neither glass nor gemstone, its surface unmarred by time. A mirror, its frame of twisted silver. Decorative weapons mounted on walls, they lacked the telltale ripple of Valyrian steel, but they were steel nonetheless, and they looked untouched by rust in this poisoned air.
"We should split up," Isaac suggested, his eyes scanning the branching corridors. "Cover more ground. This place is large, and we don't know how much time we have."
I grinned at that, a dark amusement touching my features. How many horror movies had I consumed in my previous life that began exactly this way? The splitting of the party, the inevitable picking off of isolated members by whatever horror lurked in the dark. The trope of the black character dying first in horror movies.
"Splitting up is how horror tales start," I said with a soft chuckle. "But this is not a story, and you are not a fool. Do as you see fit."
Isaac seemed to think on my words for a few seconds before he nodded. "Archmaester Marwyn and I will search together, if that is okay with you. We will check the upper floors."
I nodded, and I caught a flash of understanding in his eyes. He knew I could handle myself, and more importantly, he knew that splitting up meant whatever dangers lurked here would have to divide their attention as well.
They moved toward a sweeping staircase that curved upward along the wall, their footsteps echoing on stone. I watched them ascend, then turned my attention to the hall before me.
I wandered through the manse's ground floor. Without the duo distracting me, I allowed my senses to spread wide. Something was dampening them—the magic of the manse, if I was to guess—still, what I had was enough for me to navigate. The air here was different, still heavy with tainted magic and poisonous gases, but also muted somehow, as if the building itself provided a degree of shelter. My footsteps carried me through what must have been a receiving room, then a dining hall with a table of petrified wood that could have seated thirty.
It was in a side corridor that I noticed it.
Air. Moving air.
In a structure that had been sealed for over four hundred years, there shouldn't have been a draft. I stopped, focusing my senses. There, a gentle current of air, flowing along the wall. But my eyes saw only solid stone.
I extended my awareness, pushing against the veil of magic that hung over the space. There, an illusion, weak and deteriorating. It was of Valyrian make, but time and condition had worn it down. There were much subtler methods to dismantle it, but I didn't have time for that.
I drew back my fist and struck.
The stone cracked, then I punched it again, and this time it shattered, revealing a hollow space beyond. A passage, with steps leading down into darkness. The illusion shattered like spun glass, fragments of magic dissipating into the corrupted air.
I took the passage as it descended steeply. It was carved from the bedrock beneath the manse. I narrowed my eyes and they pierced the darkness easily, revealing walls that grew more polished, more deliberately crafted the deeper I went. This was Valyrian work, predating whatever desperate measures had been taken above.
At the bottom, a vault door stood ajar, or rather, its wards had deteriorated enough that the door had simply failed, hanging crooked on hinges that should have been ancient. I could still feel the echo of the protections that had once been woven into this place: wards against scrying, against forced entry, against the very passage of time itself.
I focused on my magical senses, perceiving the web of degraded enchantments that still clung to the entrance like cobwebs. With a flex of will, I grasped the structure of the wards and pulled. Magic was still a finicky thing for me, but as always, it was easier to destroy than it was to build or create.
The wards came apart like rotted cloth, the magic finally releasing its grip after fighting entropy for so long.
I stepped into the chamber beyond.
It was smaller than I'd expected, perhaps twenty feet across. Shelves lined the walls, bearing items that had survived when so much else had not. I glimpsed a chest of coins, some Valyrian alloy that still gleamed. Books, their pages preserved by protective spells, their spines bearing titles in High Valyrian. A collection of daggers, three of them, made of Valyrian steel. As well as exotic jewelry that hung half-dangling from their cases.
And in the center of the room, two skeletal forms.
They sat together against the far wall, as if they had simply lain down to sleep and never woken. The larger skeleton had its arm around the smaller. A woman and a child, I realized, judging by their bone structure. Their clothes had fared better than their owners, preserved by the same magic that had protected the rest of the vault's contents. Fine silks, embroidered with golden thread, beautifully crafted even by my high standards.
I knelt beside them, something like pity churning in my gut. These were not just ancient Valyrians brought low by their dabbling with powers they had no understanding of. They were simply people, perhaps a mother and child pair. Survivors who had made it to safety, only to discover that safety was just another form of death.
My eyes fell upon a leather-bound journal tucked beneath the woman's skeletal fingers as if she had been reading it when the end came.
I reached for it gently so as not to disturb the corpse, and I opened it carefully. The pages crackled softly. The handwriting was elegant, practiced, the hand of someone educated. It was all written in High Valyrian, and I was glad I had Marwyn teach me the dead language in full before we left the North.
The first entry identified the author: Sarya, concubine to Lord Azhdar of the Qohoron estate. She had been at this summer manse, a retreat from the main family holding, when the Doom struck.
I skimmed through the entries, each one a window into desperation:
"The sky turned to fire. We fled to the vault Father built, the one he swore could withstand anything. Kael is frightened. I tell him stories to keep him calm."
"The wards hold. We have supplies for three months. Surely rescue will come before then."
"The food is running low. Kael doesn't complain, but I see how he looks at the empty stores. Still no rescue. I don't know if anyone survived to mount one."
"I told Kael a story about dragons today. He asked if we could ride one away from here. I didn't have the heart to tell him the dragons are all gone, burned with everything else."
"The last of the water is gone. Kael is sleeping now. He won't wake again. Neither will I. If anyone finds this, know that we died together, and that—
The entry ended there, the pen trailing off the page.
So that was why the manse had survived better than the surrounding structures. It had been occupied by someone who knew how to take shelter immediately. The wards on this vault had extended throughout the building to some degree, offering protection that other structures lacked.
I was pulled from my thoughts by a shout that echoed from above, sharp and urgent in its intensity. I almost laughed at the ridiculous feeling of being right. I just hoped I was also right to trust Isaac to be able to take care of himself. He and Marwyn, at least.