Prologue

A/N: Yo, DC here. Welcome to the first installment of my first story.

This will hopefully be the first of many I plan on writing. I have had this story rummaging through my head for so long, and now that I've finally started, I'm ready to post some. I'll shoot for a minimum of 5000 per chapter unless something comes up. It will be a 'slowish' burn, but things start picking up before the start of canon.

Hope you all enjoy it! And now, without further ado... Lights

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Ten thousand years ago

Sorcery and the sword ruled

It was a time of gods

It was a world of magic

It was the age of heroes

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3?? A.C

Broken trees and torn earth and debris scattered all about the open terrain as part of the nearby forest caught fire. Jon remained hidden a ways behind the massive creature, giving his wolf the freedom needed to distract it.

They had spent most of their time hunting and had just caught supper before the clouds had darkened even more and were treading back to camp when their path was blocked by a large and, according to the maesters, supposedly extinct firewyrm.

This one was full-grown compared to the arm-sized youngins they would typically come across.

Most of the creatures on this island had already traveled south to escape the encroaching cold, but it seemed as if one was unable to and left behind to fend for itself, unfortunately for it.

It wasn't their first time facing a creature of such size or with such enigmatic origins. They fought all kinds and in different ways, but all ended up dead while he and his wolf lived.

Ghost stayed concealed among the trees, moving in and out, distracting the beast from noticing Jon's slow approach.

Ghost would jump out from behind the trees and howl at it, or attack if he saw an opening, before withdrawing back into the forest for safety, then bursting out again moments later at its flank.

At the same time, their enemy would search for him in the previous location, unbeknownst to them that he and Ghost were setting a trap.

They devised the tactic to protect themselves best while freeing as many soldiers from severe injury or death as possible. Because of his enormous size and newly whole voice, Ghost would distract their enemies while maintaining a safe distance, protected by the trees around him.

When noticed, he would run along the edge, keeping their foe in sight, and lead them away without losing its attention. At times, his direwolf would dodge and head deeper into the forests before doubling back and attacking its blind spot.

The most dangerous of enemies they encountered were far too large to search the dense forests for a kill and would typically hide along the border and wait for their prey to leave the safety of their home and reveal themselves.

As a result, they kept clear of any jungles that looked to be destroyed or burned by large creatures. After years of facing such beasts, they had come to understand them and their habits.

The firewyrm looked more like a giant snake than a worm, perhaps forty feet long, with a colossal body covered in thick red and brown scales that bulged out, protecting the soft skin underneath. Its grey hairs covered its chin and ran along its piercing, prickly spine like a decoration.

Its legs had razor-sharp claws, but they were insignificantly small compared to its massive body. They were mainly used to move around as it was unable to slither on the ground as well as snakes.

A single horn, half the size of its legs, was missing, courtesy of Ghost, who bit one off when injuring its throat earlier, impeding it from continuously spewing its fire.

Jon quietly approached the beast from the rear as it attempted to figure out how to capture Ghost for its next meal. The bleeding claw mark on its throat prevented it from using its fire breath without burning itself. He could see tiny flickers of ember peering from its neck wounds as it cauterized the bleeding.

Jon believed Ghost's attack had negated its abilities, but a loud screech from its man-sized gullet dissuaded him from that assumption.

Roar

The blaring sound was followed by a thin stream of fire aimed directly at Ghost, who jolted out for another surprise attack. His wolf landed just outside the tree line in the direct path of the flames, just a foot away from being hit.

"Ghost…," he almost yelled before lowering his voice.

His wolf ducked, narrowly avoiding the flames, but the quick move caused him to trip over his solitary hindleg.

Jon nearly sprinted forward when the wyrm threw out its claw, ready to catch its prey finally, but using his stomach for support, Ghost sprang back up and raced off, bouncing again off his stomach as he righted his balance.

It did not enjoy its target barely escaping again because soon after, the wyrm leaped for him, disregarding its own safety, and tackled into the forest with its mouth open, destroying any part of the forest in its way.

He wasn't as quick with only three legs, but Ghost made up for it with his power, ferocity, and ever-clever mind. Fortunately, its action only slowed the beast even more as it struggled to keep up through the forest. His direwolf ought to circle it and retaliate before being caught, most like.

But Jon was done waiting any longer, eager to be done with this swiftly and return to camp.

I'm going, he messaged Ghost.

Jon creped his way to the beast, stepping softly across the field as to make little noise. He aimed for one of its legs to slow it down further and possibly give Ghost some reprieve.

Seeing an opening, Jon picked up his speed and unsheathed his swords, forcing a thin, blue glow on them; he would need some extra strength to cut through the scales in one strike.

As the firewyrm continued chasing Ghost in an obvious circle, Jon paused until it turned its back on him again. When it did, without hesitation, he charged at full speed until he was directly behind the beast.

He pulled his sword back and swung with his might.

Shink

Rooooar

It howled to the skies releasing a pain-filled screech before toppling over on its stomach. Its severed leg lay just beside the stump it was once attached to.

He attempted to do the same to the other but quickly retreated, escaping the firewrym's retaliatory bite. It had swiveled around too hastily to see what had attacked it from behind and blindly struck out.

Never one to miss a chance, Ghost jumped atop the fire snake and tore into its back with his teeth and claws, ripping out one of its spikes and a chunk of meat with him before being thrown off from the wyrm's constant shakes.

Ghost was much stronger now, but he still found the skin of giant beasts, such as it, challenging to dig through. If they had discovered one like it back when they lived in Westeros, Jon would have taken it and tried to build a suit or some armor out of its skin.

He was sure it would have been lighter than steel and more robust than some boiled leather.

It would have made a fine replacement for Arya's old patting, and we both would have forced Sansa to wear a set whether she liked it or not.

Rooooar

The ground shook as it flipped onto its back and thrashed onto its back and thrashed around frantically, destroying the trees and ground around it as it attempted to close the wound on its spine.

Blood flowed out profusely, unlike the frozen stump where its leg once was. It tossed the ice-covered appendage across the field, unaware it belonged to the creature.

He and Ghost gave the battered beast some space for fear of being injured by a surprise attack from its spiraling, spiked tail as it rolled around and spasmed in agony.

When it noticed the frozen stump, the beast began licking its wound, but the ice wouldn't melt any time soon unless it used its fire breath on itself.

The creature was beginning to tire, slowing down; it breathed heavily while staring malice at them.

'You finally realize how futile your ambush indeed was. Blame yourself...'

He shrugged his shoulders and sent a signal to Ghost, and as one, slowly advanced, preparing to finish it off.

Though now that it was alert, it turned its head and growled, hoping to scare them into retreating and possibly leaving it be.

And he would have if he wasn't concerned about it returning for them...but under the command of another.

No matter the species, a cornered animal is almost as dangerous as a wounded one, and the beast before them happened to be both. He would not be surprised if it used the last of its strength in an attempt to leap up and assault them, as it seemed to be doing.

They wouldn't be taking any chances.

They stopped and watched on as it limped back up, straightening its posture and roaring one last time.

'It's going to attack,' he thought before the beast instead smashed its nose into the ground.

Jon, at first, believed it to be dead until it began using its claws and fangs on the dirt beneath it, quickly creating a decent-sized hole.

Ghost barked as they both noticed its plan.

He scowled. 'Do you think we will allow your escape? There is no chance we'll leave you alone long enough to tunnel your way out of this.'

If they did nothing and gave it time, it just might, but it had almost ruined his day. It was time to release the creature from the misery it had sought.

Wasting no more time, Jon hurried his legs, mirrored by Ghost, who went around and charged at it from the opposite side.

It reared its bloody head from the hole once it detected them approaching. Seeing Jon near it and about to slash off another of its legs, the firewyrm went in for the kill, hoping to eat him whole.

However, as its jaw came diving at him, it reared back before reaching him and let out another ear-piercing screech. His direwolf had grabbed ahold of its tail and proceeded to chew through it, allowing Jon to complete his attack.

'You forgot about someone,' he chuckled. 'Ghost hid well from you.'

He continued his attack without the worry of being eaten.

Roooooar

Thud

It collapsed again after struggling to get Ghost off and had little chance of doing so after Jon took off another leg.

He was glad the creature couldn't simply fly away from them now that it was trapped and mortally wounded.

The firewyrm lay immobile within the hole it had dug. The only signs of its continued life were its belly inflating up and down and the low wheezing that was heard.

It had ultimately lost all its energy in its failed escape, thanks to the large lacerations made by him and Ghost. The blood was still pouring out, but much slower and less than when they were first made.

"It's over," he told Ghost. The fighting was, at least. There was no need for more; it would soon run out of blood and die.

Ghost came and stood beside him as he watched it whine and slowly squirm, refusing to let go; much different than when it was furious.

It was all in vain as the creature slowed to a still. He saw the last of its life leave its now clouded, hollow eyes.

Jon released a breath and huffed, annoyed that he had to fight and waste so much time on this day rather than any other.

Jon approached the beast, grabbed onto its scales, and climbed its head. He pointed his sword at one of its foggy eyes, the most vulnerable part and the easiest way to access the inside.

'It was either you or us.'

The sword tip glowed partially red before he stabbed the dead creature in its eye and focused his mind.

Moments later, he jumped off and returned to his companion.

"Let us get going, boy. I rather not stay much longer," he said, ignoring the still-burning forest and the enormous carcass covered in the same blaze.

He grabbed the day's catch of rabbits he left hidden behind a far tree and began his walk back.

Whoever said old Valyria was the only place these creatures could have existed because of the Fourteen Flames was highly mistaken.

Their first encounter with them was just a moon into their arrival when they were searching for shelter in the tunnels of the central mountains. That expedition saw two in their company, Garin and Soo Min, burned to death. It was quick, but the screams still haunted him; Soo Min's mostly.

Some crewmates lost their lives to the island's inhabitants, others to poison, and some perished at the hand of their enemies who followed.

They came to the island with twenty, but now, only he and Ghost remained.

It was warmer the further south he went, Jon Snow…Stark…Targaryen—it no longer mattered. None of it did. Not when he was the last survivor of both families.

'The last survivor of any family,' he thought bitterly.

Because they were defeated. Winterfell, King's Landing—all of Westeros no longer belonged to the living.

It's been years since they made it here, the last of which was spent alone with Ghost as his only companion.

Aegon Island was the last place he knew that hadn't gone up in flames or frozen in a slab of ice. Visenya was the northern island of the three and was currently half frozen, while the Island of Rhaenys, in the south, was being scorched in a red and black inferno—they could smell the smoke from where they were despite the distance.

'They're finally here,' he sighed. Jon's clothes clung to his skin, and the air hung too humid and heavy to be a mix of anything else.

Life had been one continuous loss since the new age arrived, and kingdoms began falling one after the other like leaves of a tree in autumn. Now the realm of man was reduced to him, Ghost, and this single island.

Aegon Island, named by Lady Farman over two hundred years ago, had been his home for the last four or five; he wasn't sure.

The days and months seemed to blur together like a long dream; they found it impossible to keep track of dates when there was scarcely a hint of the sun or moon to follow.

'Perhaps it was still there…just unseen.'

He wasn't sure. The world had been slowly darkening since the war began, only the thinnest of light peeking out through the clouds on rare occasions.

When they had first arrived, he couldn't fathom a place untouched by the scum Heralds of the Gods. Their last haven after The Collapse of Yi Ti—a true home to them—was Asshai, the mysterious Shadow Lands filled with binders and sorcerers, and was inexplicably shielded from outside forces.

The city seemed to pass beneath the shadow—as if the Long Night had always been present. The mountainous peninsula sheltered the city from excessive sunlight and any severe weather, leaving the area in a perpetual and gloomy fog.

The city would glow a pretty green at times from whatever contaminated the Ash River and the light of torches bouncing off it at night.

To him and Arya, the city had a beauty all its own compared to the surrounding world that had become unrecognizable, filled with nightmarish horrors and merciless atrocities.

Though the city still did have its terrors. There was no such thing as forbidden magic within the city, which scared them the most; their experience made them wary of such a notion.

After escaping from the once golden city of Yi Ti, they traveled further east, past Jinqi, where they commandeered a ship and sailed to the Shadow Lands.

They stayed for a time around the port with the rest of the refugees who followed until they established themselves and claimed an area of the city for their people.

The charlatans and kidnappers were quick to learn not to antagonize any of them. They were mostly ignored and only dealt with those on the lower end of the hierarchy; fish traders, merchants, smallfolk, lowly priests, and the like.

The citizens lived in relative accord—for denizens of Asshai, that is. They continued their daily routine as if they were unaware of the encroaching darkness just beyond those mountains.

Instead, they considered it an opportunity to enrich themselves and become the world's saviors. The mysterious protections around the city held firm, keeping them safe, and the rivers and Jade Sea had yet to freeze, allowing them to continue trade with Ulthos.

Nonetheless, it wouldn't last long once word of them reached the higher authorities. It seemed the northern borders of the Shadow Lands were not as secure as previously thought.

'We were being followed...'

It was the rulers who seemed the most frantic. True, they were content behind their magic shield, but many wished to contribute to the war, believing it their destiny to do so, as well as the fulfillment of thousands of years of prophecies.

But with every sorcerer they sent out to fight, never to return, more and more began to fear and question the situation outside their borders as time passed.

Soon after finding a safe shelter for themselves, they were asked—more like threatened—by the upper echelon to assist, though quietly; they couldn't risk their novices experimenting with spells that could lead to their collective detriment.

Jon forced Arya to stay with the rest while he crossed deeper into the Black Lands, killing every wight he encountered. He worried about leaving her alone with the rest. After Yi Ti…and Sansa…

He never wanted to be without her by his side again.

"Why do you have to go? You owe nothing to these people. We could retreat right now and forget about those crazed sorcerers. They won't be able to stop us if we choose to leave," she told him.

"And where would we go," he sighed. "The Grey Waste? It's being conquered as we speak. Sothoryos, Ulthos? They'll belong to Greyjoy soon enough. We have no choice in this. The protections are still up, Arya. Right now, this is the safest place for us," Jon said.

She looked at him worriedly and said, "And how long will they last while you're forced to slave for them? You're going into battle with no reinforcements."

"I'll do what I must, as long as you're safe," he said thoughtfully.

"And what about you!" she yelled.

"I'll be back. I always come back," he said, trying to convince her more than himself.

Thankfully he wasn't alone. At the border, where small colonies were located, Jon had found assistance from the local settlers…as well as some from an old friend.

The Shadow Men were a strong people who reminded him of the mountain clans in the North, except they enjoyed piracy and reaving like the ironborn.

They all wore red lacquered wooden masks on their faces and covered themselves all over in tattoos that represented their number of kills or their hierarchy in the clan.

They populated the majority of the northernmost mountains of the Shadowlands, in a region closer to Jinqi than they were to Asshai.

They had no trust for outsiders; it was only due to his ability against the wights and the support of Quaithe that allowed him to join their skirmishes.

He arrived at the border of the magical protection to find the clans joining together against the invading army as they tried to march further and beyond the barrier.

Alone, the wights were forced back, but as a mob with a few White Walkers leading them, Jon noticed the protective layer being pushed back as some squeezed through what he presumed to be the protection's borders.

He was frustrated but was far from shocked. Whatever the magic surrounding the city was, it was certainly not invincible. Far from it, it was beginning to stress, and he knew it would eventually break. And since they needed clues as to what bore it, they knew naught how to strengthen it.

It was a miracle that it lasted so long. It would take the gods themselves to keep it up against the mighty armies.

He fought for two moons alongside the red-masked Shadowmen, only to be slaughtered and forced to retreat once more.

He couldn't save Quaithe from their ambush, and with her death went any control over the Shadowmen.

No longer was there anyone to lead her people.

The clans began their disputes and infighting and, not long after, were outnumbered and forced to run…while their enemies chased.

It was pointless to stay any longer, they needed to leave soon, but the others of his group hoped there was yet something in Asshai that could strengthen the city's protection.

Thus, he and Arya searched the lands and green rivers of Asshai and traversed their black mountains and greasy, blackstone castles in search of whatever it was that shielded the city for so long; what acted like a poisonous wall against the wights, even when it appeared to be weaker against fiends.

But like the Children of the Forest's own protections, theirs eventually fell as well…and the pandemonium began.

The city panicked once trade in the south stalled, and the rest of the Shadowlanders and other Essosi refugees flooded the city.

The priests and priestesses came groveling before him and pleaded for his blood, the city governors yearned to capture him for their spells and rituals, and the High Rulers finally came to the realization: their ward wasn't infallible, and the borders won't be protected for much longer.

But by then, it was hopeless. What could parlor tricks and minor spells do against that kind of magic?

And yet, he persevered with their futile requests for as long as he felt somewhat safe.

The people were all fanatics in one way or another, and when his identity was revealed and became common knowledge, well, it was time to plan for their next home before they were forced to remain.

The people hailed him as their prophesized hero, but that was all they did; none knew how to help him end it. All they gave them were their pointless prayers, repeated prophecies, and useless dark spells.

He found a few powerful and sane inhabitants who endeavored to assist him in ending it; however, they asked for too much. He swore to himself that he would never go that far into the depths of dark magic again.

It never turned out as they imagined, and it never assisted them against the Night King or Greyjoy but instead strengthened their enemies.

Whether it came from the heavens, the land, or creatures, magic, particularly dark magic, was uncontrollable. Like a horse without its rider, one never knew if or more like when the power would be snatched away and seized by their enemies to add to their growing strength.

Besides, Arya would not allow for it, her true self returning now and again after being forced to be with them for so long. He chuckled at the thought.

There was no longer anyone to mind her.

The Faceless Men might have had their own mystic arts, and there was no better at granting the gift, but against those who already had it, they stood little chance and were eventually wiped out.

By now, every city north of Dorne and Myr, in both Westeros and Essos, was conquered by the wights who marched over the frozen waters of the Narrow Sea and into Pentos, while all lands in the south, including Old Town, Dorne, Volantis, Ghiscar, Sothoryos, and Ulthos… they were all dominated by Greyjoy and his army.

The Night King from the North and Greyjoy from the South—they would always find them, no matter where or how far they traveled. Why they didn't simply fight one another still dumbfounded him.

But it was proof that they made some sort of deal or mayhaps an unspoken accord between them.

One gets the north, the other the south. Winner to whoever kills him first…

Their luck turned when Arya found an old, weathered ship abandoned and half-sunken on one of their last expeditions. Though it was falling apart and not part of their goal, she was adamant that they explore.

"There can be something inside," she told him.

"It looks a hundred years old and almost completely underwater. What do you think we'll find in there that might be helpful to us now?"

"Something more interesting than slimy mountains and mad priests. We're making our escape soon, and we need to search every ruin before then."

Jon groaned but acquest since it was their last adventure in Asshai and because it was her asking.

He and Arya had both agreed: they would follow orders and search the city for the source of its protections but also secretly survey the land for an escape route in case they were in need of a quick retreat.

They were in for a shock.

They swam across the short river and climbed atop the vessel only to discover its origins. The ship they found was the true Sun Chaser, Elissa Farman—Windhill's ship. It was astounding to see such a vessel as famous and as old as it still held together in one piece.

They both knew the stories—many people did. The young sailor left for the Sunset Seas from Old Town two centuries ago in search of land in the world's most dangerous and unexplored sea.

Yet her ship still existed and, after thoroughly combing through every room above and under the water, still contained information that could assist them.

For instance: how she and her ship ended up in Asshai?

Her journals held those answers, including some that he and Sam have been curious about since their time in Yi Ti.

It was like one of Quaithe's riddles.

Who would have thought that if one sailed west, they might, in truth, end up arriving in the east, that is, if they survived the journey?

He and Bran had discovered through their greensight that the lands were once connected during the first Long Night, but that was from the east of Westeros to the west of Essos.

The Narrow Sea was far more like a narrow river than a sea back then.

They had found no other but her—in the last thousand years at least—who traveled the west along the Sunset Sea and made it to land.

They might have missed someone, but he had to stay wary lest he was also affected by time as Bran was…

It would have been a momentous discovery if she made it to Westeros or if the world were still the same, but few cared about anything that didn't help them in the current war.

Some in their group believed in the journals, while others thought them fakes and fairytales, a last-ditched effort to keep them together and on the move.

It was a recklessness attempt; they had to admit.

They learned of what her journal called the Spotted Isles, a litany of uninhabited islands scattered throughout the sunset sea. And though they had a loadstone compass, they knew nothing of the location of any of the islands…except for three.

Lady Farman described the three islands as "a mountain attended by two hills." They were allegedly exquisite and bountiful, with plenty of fresh water from the numerous springs and streams. She wrote that the trees were dense with edible nuts and fruits unknown in other lands.

It sounded like a paradise compared to their current condition.

But to find three unknown islands in the middle of the vastest and most dangerous sea, with no guide, no experience, and nothing but a two-hundred-year-old journal to lead the way… It was the height of foolishness. But what other choice was present before them?

They said it was impossible, but so was winning.

Some decided to stay and fight once the wights breached the city rather than continue running…and some died helping him escape when it should have been him to protect her…

It was a little over a moon when they caught sight of land.

Colored forests and rivers painted the lands surrounding a sizable mountain in the middle of two others; fruit trees and exotic animals he had only read about in books and ancient scrolls found the place a sanctuary.

The islands were very small, no larger than Dragonstone when combined together. They knew they were just several weeks' travel away from Oldtown but slightly farther south and farther west than even Lonely Light, yet they would not return to Westeros.

By Lady Farman's words, the islands were supposedly uninhabited, but for the wildlife, including stags, rabbits, and wild pigs—plenty of available food for them to hunt.

'If we only knew of the islands beforehand. Had we made it here after Yi Ti instead of our stop in Asshai, then perhaps…' Though he knew they would only be prolonging the inevitable.

He cut the shrubs blocking their path a little more than what was necessary.

'Sansa would have enjoyed it, like a vast garden for her to play in. And Arya…' He smiled while thinking of how his littlest sister would act. 'She would have been bored but, with all the bizarre creatures available, would have come to enjoy it as well.'

The clouds this far out from the mainland were much lighter and not as thick and black—until recently, that is.

They reminded him of the skies over his old home during a snowstorm; thick, stark grey, almost black clouds covered the once blue heavens like a sea of crows.

Jon could not stop his eyes from misting. Robb, the ever-faithful, always believed in him, only thinking of Jon as his proper brother and best friend and not a bastard like the rest of Westeros.

'Ha, the Bastard of Winterfell. What would they do if they saw me?' His moniker for most of his life… He suffered under it from the moment he was taught of its meaning, but now he craved to hear someone speak it.

Robb stayed true to Jon, legitimized him, and named Jon his heir when all believed him to be the last male with Stark blood.

And even when Theon's ploy came to light and Bran returned to them, he still refused. He would have passed on the lordship to Rickon if only he could…

All of Robb's hopes and dreams were placed on his shoulders, and yet what Jon had accomplished was all in vain.

The Starks, the North, the world…

It was up to him to protect the last of his family—the last of a home long lost, the last of the happy memories of a time when life was so simple… before he left for the Wall.

Before the last of his family left him alone in this shattered world.

Jon's fury almost raged out. 'Before the damned game began.'

He was the eldest, the most experienced, and the strongest bloodline, but he lacked the cunning—the willingness to sacrifice his reputation for what mattered to him most before they perished.

Honor only brought him so far.

'What would Robb say if he knew? Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon—all of them…gone.'

Now…now he would give anything to hear someone call him bastard, anyone, but all he had was his familiar—Ghost, his only friend left in this world, was limping alongside him as they trailed through the jungle back to their camp.

"We need to hurry, boy," he said, looking directly into Ghost's red eyes. "It will be pitch dark soon, and I would appreciate a good night's sleep."

Grrrrmm, Ghost responded with a low growl and a slight nod.

His direwolf was now as tall as he was without his changing, with scars covering his body from predominantly wights and fiends they fought. Especially the large gash near his tail where his right leg used to be.

Jon's heart almost broke when he had to amputate it.

The fiend's bite burnt through most of his paw and lower leg, and its dark curse began spreading like black vines up his body, similar to Victarion's black hand. But instead, this curse would eventually kill him rather than make him stronger.

He would be damned if he could not save his partner—his best friend—and his only reminder of his family.

Ghost had much more fight left in him.

Racing was out of the question for some time, nor could Jon ride him any longer, but he survived. It took some getting used to, and when he was, Ghost became ever more vicious against their enemies, refusing to be powerless again.

Jon considered making him a Valyrian steel replacement for it, one that was nearly indestructible and light, but with no way to properly station it, eventually became useless and thrown to the wayside as Ghost learned to be quicker without.

Most of their men would still rather have his direwolf guarding their backs than another soldier.

'And my back is the only one he guards now.'

Jon looked at Ghost and lamented. 'If we had just awakened sooner...'

They lost so many thanks to their ignorance.

Envisioning Greyjoy back then, facing off against him and Ghost, would have brought joy before, but no more.

'All I have left are my visions.'

He stepped over a short ditch that circled the bend, filled with leaves, sticks, and a cold and clear fluid, indicating that they had arrived at the clearing where they had built their shelter.

It was a deep cave they found on the side of a large foothill in the center of a clearing, positioned near a sizeable watering hole and one of the many silver trees that were scattered throughout the island, with a dense forest of shrubbery and trees protecting them on the east and west sides.

They built most of it with the wood from the surrounding forests and supplies from the vessel that brought them here from Assahi, but only after they spent a fortnight claiming the area and clearing it out of any predators.

It was far from being a castle. In truth, it was scarcely a hovel, but it was enough for him and Ghost to rest safely.

The campground had a small garden filled with plants he and Sam had grown for food and medicine—and to make drink, honestly.

The ropes tied to the scattered boulders remained interwoven throughout, where the tail ends supported his slumbering traps.

Most of his valuables were stored in the cave near his makeshift bed, except for all the snares and alarms he had set around their camp. The area had been rather safe from any assaults while they slept.

Jon went in, sat down on his bed of wood, furs, and leaves, and took out his knives to prepare the rabbits they trapped.

Prey was difficult to trap initially with all the dangerous creatures around who called this place home.

The only truly dangerous animal they were meant to encounter was the huge, sluggish grey lizards as big as deer, whose bites could cause severe infections. It soon became apparent that the land had changed since the journal was first written two hundred years ago.

Since Lady Farman never gave her discoveries proper names, Sam decided to call them lizard-deers for their similarity to lizard-lions, except those ran swiftly on land instead of in water, with a mildly poisonous bite and long teeth like blades.

They tasted quite good, if not slightly leathery.

The problem occurred when their party continued to come across beasts not recorded in the journal.

It was not like Jon was unaccustomed to manticores and bloodflies.

They had collected enough Tansy to plant around the camp to rub on themselves whenever they wanted to keep the insects away.

Even if he hadn't, the insects would die the moment they feasted on him. The concern came with the man-eaters who would kill their own young for a chance to taste the flesh of men.

The lizard-lions were far superior and their skin thicker than those he had seen in the Neck, and a group of basilisks poisoned a few of his old crew when they stumbled into a nest of them in their second moonturn on land.

The scar on Jon's leg still ached when he thought about the venomous lizards. If Sam had the materials necessary, Jon was sure his friend was clever enough to come up with an antidote with his help.

Sam's grave was the lone one to be placed near their camp, close enough for Jon to visit him whenever he felt the need.

Again, Jon mourned his life, 'The gods bless us with a wave of one hand, then curse me with the other.'

Then there were the so-called dragons, or what Sam liked calling them, dragonkin; a breed of dragons, either born naturally or through Valaryian Bloodmagic, were a surprise to them when first encountered.

Firewryms, similar to one they had recently fought, were found on Aegon and Visenya; with no wings, they lacked the same advantage as their dragon cousins but grew quicker than any creature he had seen.

And they did breathe fire—hot and large enough to kill any man. That and their first experience with them was enough to keep them away from the island's flaming mountains.

The wyverns were the worst of all the beasts they came upon because, unlike the firewyrms, wyverns could fly. They were ugly things, as if a dragon had mated with a lizard-lion and bore a half-mad abomination.

The largest he'd seen was a charcoal black shadow-wing wyvern, more than half the size of Rhaegal yet more vicious than Drogon, and with sharp spikes growing from their bodies, they could pierce through stone almost as well as they do flesh.

They might not be able to breathe fire, but that hardly mattered when a herd of them was blotting out the sky, racing to be the first to eat one of them.

The bloodbursts had little effect when chased by a flock of giant, flying, man-eating, crazed monstrosities.

Even the smallest of them, the brownbellies, though not much bigger than pups, hunted in packs of a hundred or more and, therefore, were far more dangerous than the single, larger breeds.

They would swarm as a herd and continuously inflect small bites that, alone, wouldn't be so harmful, but when they began to add up as more and more brownbellies joined forces on a single prey, well, death by a thousand tiny needles seemed preferable.

Sam had thought the wyverns to be their chance at salvation and a chance to take back their homeland. If Jon could tame one and perhaps skinchange into the rest of them, they would have the numbers to retaliate with their own army at their complete disposal.

One of the few times he was mistaken…

Wyverns had no love for men, including him.

He figured many a beast around weren't particularly native to the islands but were instead running from a home shattered by enemies—like how Ghost's mother once did…and how they were now.

Chop, chop, chop.