After completing the affairs in Xueyan Town, Gaimon stood for the first time in the main city he had planned since the start of the new year.
Following the Wend River downstream for dozens of kilometers, one would arrive at this city. Gaimon had named it Oros, after one of the most renowned cities of the ancient Valyrian Freehold.
Once, Oros had been a thriving center of trade, technology, and forging—one of the beating hearts of Valyria's glory. It was said that much of the fabled Valyrian steel was first forged there, its flames fueled by both magic and mastery.
Inspired by that history, Gaimon hoped his new city of Oros would become the same for the Targaryen dynasty—a city of innovation and forging, a place where knowledge, craftsmanship, and ambition would converge to shape the future.
As he stepped into the still-developing city, the first sight that greeted him was a hardened road stretching from north to south for several kilometers.
This broad avenue was the central axis of the city, its backbone and main artery.
Gaimon had named it Alysanne Avenue, after the beloved queen. The avenue extended more than two thousand meters, with plans for countless buildings to rise on both sides in the future. One day, it would be the city's main commercial district—a bustling center of trade and culture.
At the northernmost end of Alysanne Avenue lay the heart of the city: Dragon Square. The grand, circular plaza would be surrounded by the four key pillars of governance—City Hall, the Finance Hall, the City Court, and the University.
In the very center of Dragon Square, a great clock tower would rise, its bells marking the rhythm of the city. And atop that tower would stand a towering statue of a dragonrider.
Gaimon had already envisioned the statue's form: his father, King Jaehaerys, astride his mighty dragon Vermithor, wings unfurled and gaze lifted toward the horizon. He planned to commission an artist to sketch the likeness and then have the stonemasons sculpt it into marble and bronze.
Beyond Dragon Square lay the area designated for Gaimon's future residence—the Royal Palace District.
For now, though, the so-called "Palace District" was nothing but barren earth and stones jutting from the ground like ancient bones. A few simple wooden houses stood on the land, little different from those found on any rural farmstead.
Well—almost. The houses in villages were often made of a mix of brick and timber, while these were constructed entirely of wood, built hastily with local materials.
Despite their humble appearance, Gaimon did not look down upon them. He landed gracefully upon the open space before the wooden houses, dismounting from Bahamut's back.
As his boots touched the ground, several figures stepped out of one of the wooden houses.
Seeing them, Gaimon's face lit up with genuine joy.
"Comon, you're finally here!" he called out, striding forward. "I trust everything went smoothly at the Citadel this time?"
Comon Corell—the man standing before him—had once been the chief architect in charge of the renovation projects of King's Landing. He had also participated in the construction of monumental roads such as the King's Road and the Rose Road. Among the architects of Westeros, his reputation was well-known and widely respected.
The Corell family, to which he belonged, had a proud lineage of builders and designers stretching back nearly three centuries. According to the records, the family's founder had been knighted for constructing a great castle for a noble lord, and ever since, generation after generation had produced master architects. Behind many of the most magnificent castles and landmarks across the continent, one could find the hand of a Corell.
If it weren't for Brother Baas's recommendation, Gaimon might never have learned of this family's existence.
Once he had, he'd immediately wished to enlist Comon's help in designing and building his new territory. The two first met in King's Landing, where they spent long hours discussing Gaimon's ambitious plans.
Comon had been deeply intrigued by the project. Unlike his previous work, which focused on single buildings or roadways, this endeavor called for the comprehensive design of an entire city and its surrounding lands—a grand challenge unlike anything he had attempted before. Though fascinated, Comon had been cautious. He admitted that he lacked experience in such large-scale urban planning, and wished to study further before committing.
To that end, he decided to travel to the Citadel in Oldtown, hoping to find books or scrolls related to the subject.
Gaimon, understanding the importance of preparation, fully supported the idea. And so, Comon had set off on his journey. Until today, Gaimon had not seen him again.
Now, months later, as they met once more, both men were overjoyed. Despite their long separation, they had maintained regular contact through ravens. Their letters had been filled with sketches, suggestions, and discussions on how best to bring the dream of Oros to life.
Through those exchanges, their partnership had grown stronger, built upon mutual respect and shared vision.
"Your Highness, it has indeed been a long time," Comon said warmly. "My trip to the Citadel went quite well overall. We faced a few obstacles along the way, but with the assistance of your brother, Prince Vigen, we managed to resolve them. I must express my deepest gratitude to you and your family for your help."
"Nonsense, Comon," Gaimon replied with a smile, waving his hand dismissively. "You were traveling on my behalf. Offering some assistance is only my duty. You owe me no thanks."
He chuckled softly, though he felt a twinge of embarrassment. It didn't sit right with him to be thanked for something that had been no more than his obligation.
As for Prince Vigen's involvement, that had been arranged in advance. Gaimon had sent a raven to his brother, asking him to aid Comon should any trouble arise during his time at the Citadel. It seemed that precaution had indeed proven useful.
Comon nodded gratefully, then turned the conversation back to the matter at hand.
"Your Highness," he began, "regarding the city you envisioned—specifically, the water supply, drainage, and sewage systems—I've found viable methods to incorporate all three. However, implementing them will require tremendous resources and manpower. The cost, I fear, would be astronomical if we attempt everything at once."
Gaimon listened attentively, then waved his hand again, calm and confident.
"Don't concern yourself with the cost for now," he said. "We won't be building everything all at once. My plan divides the entire construction into three phases, each lasting three years—a total of nine years for full completion. When the city is finished—on the very year I come of age—I intend to invite nobles from across Westeros to witness it. And on that day, the names of every architect, builder, and craftsman who contributed will be engraved upon a great stone tablet in the city's center. Your names will endure, Comon—forever tied to the legacy of this city."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, a spark of excitement ignited among the group.
The builders and architects exchanged glances, their faces bright with pride. To have their names carved into stone alongside such a monumental creation—it was a dream no craftsman could resist.
Though the city of Oros existed now only as drawings, every engineer and architect who had seen those plans could not help but marvel at its ambition and grandeur.
Massive avenues lined with marble arches, canals glimmering with clean water, towering forges and workshops for artisans, public libraries, schools, and gardens—all arranged in perfect harmony.
It was a design meant not just to house people, but to inspire them.
Each district had been carefully planned—the Trade Quarter near the river to facilitate commerce, the Craftsmen's District surrounding the forges and smithies, the Scholar's Quarter near the university, and the Palace District, overlooking them all from a gentle rise.
Every detail reflected Gaimon's vision: a city where knowledge, industry, and beauty coexisted—a city worthy of dragons.
The gathered workers felt that even King's Landing and Oldtown, the greatest cities of Westeros, might one day pale in comparison to what Oros would become.
Comon, in particular, could not hide his admiration. Turning to Gaimon, he said earnestly, "Your Highness, your vision surpasses that of any ruler I've ever known. If we succeed, Oros will stand as a symbol of the Targaryen dynasty's wisdom and strength—a city that future generations will revere."
Gaimon smiled at the words, his gaze drifting over the unfinished foundations that stretched across the land. Though the ground was still raw and barren, in his mind he could already see the city rising from the soil—stone by stone, tower by tower, a new Valyria reborn in Westeros.
"Then let's begin," he said softly. "Let Oros rise."
And with that declaration, the work truly began.
The men moved about with renewed energy, sketching, measuring, and marking the land. Comon began explaining the new layouts—how the drainage systems would run beneath the roads, how the water would be channeled from the Wend River, purified through stone filters, and distributed throughout the city.
Others discussed the placement of workshops, barracks, and future marketplaces. Gaimon listened to each proposal carefully, offering adjustments or suggestions when needed.
For him, Oros was not just another stronghold—it was the foundation of a new era.
He wanted the city to be more than stone and mortar; he wanted it to embody the ideals of progress, discipline, and unity. A place where scholars, craftsmen, and warriors could coexist—each contributing to the strength of the realm.
As the sun began to set over the horizon, its golden light spilled across the plains. Gaimon stood once more at the center of the planned city, watching the shadows stretch long and thin.
Behind him, Bahamut let out a low, contented growl. The dragon's eyes gleamed with reflected light as if it, too, could see the shining city that would one day stand here.
Gaimon reached out, placing a hand on Bahamut's warm scales.
"One day," he murmured, "this place will rival the wonders of old Valyria. And when that day comes, our names will live forever in its stones."
The wind carried his words across the empty plain, where the faint outlines of streets and foundations hinted at the city yet to be born.
The City of Oros—the dream of a prince, the labor of many hands, and the promise of a new age—had taken its first breath.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)