The fleet of three large ships made slow progress, stopping and resupplying at several major ports in the Stormlands. Along the way, they encountered a small storm and had to take shelter for a few days on Bloodstone Port, a part of Garlan Tyrell's domain.
A group of young acolytes came running to Wright, eager with curiosity. They had heard that he possessed a powerful High Valyrian spell capable of stopping storms and wondered why he hadn't used it. Wright patiently explained that storms in the Stepstones were both a blessing and a curse—while they could halt ships and close ports, they also brought much-needed rain to the islands. Taking advantage of the stop, he led the acolytes on a tour of the island's rainwater reservoirs and extensive shipyards, broadening their knowledge.
One of the shipyards was in the process of building Wright's flagship, the Wave-rider Knight, a four-masted sailing vessel—the largest of its kind in this era. Wright himself had been involved in its design, while a team of over a hundred master shipwrights fine-tuned the details. The ship was long and narrow, prioritizing speed and luxury over cargo capacity. Once it completed its maiden voyage, production would begin on a series of wider, more heavily armed warships and merchant vessels.
From Bloodstone Port, Wright sent a raven ahead to Tyrosh, instructing them to prepare for the arrival of distinguished guests. The fleet set sail once more, and after a day's journey, a massive blue eye appeared on the distant horizon.
"Wow! A magical eye!"
"That's the famous Eye of Wright, known as one of the greatest wonders of the age, even praised by the archmaesters of the Citadel!"
The young acolytes crowded at the ship's bow, chattering excitedly as they gazed at the enormous, swirling, arcane eye in the sky. Even the seasoned mages, who had heard of it or seen illustrations, were awestruck upon witnessing its power firsthand.
Wright, standing at the helm with his arms crossed, couldn't help but appreciate their fine taste. True connoisseurs of beauty.
The Eye of Wright had been activated in anticipation of his return to Tyrosh. Wright had granted two individuals the authority to control it in his absence: Tyene and Ashara. When Tyene operated it, the eye remained fixed on Wright at all times. When Ashara took control, however, the eye darted erratically in every direction, never focusing on any one spot for more than five seconds.
As they neared Tyrosh, the city's full splendor unfolded before them.
From the sea, one could see that the city occupied only the leftmost portion of the island, while the rest was filled with sprawling construction sites and lush orchards. Within the city itself, Eye of Wright and his grand castle-in-progress stood atop the highest peak. The houses, arranged in an orderly manner according to the natural slope of the land, were all built with red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls. Every three-story building featured small balconies and glass windows. Larger structures, such as barracks and warehouses, were constructed in a round shape to withstand storms.
The red roofs, white walls, scattered gardens, and countless coconut and palm trees gave the city a clean and picturesque appearance—an impression universally agreed upon by all who visited the new Tyrosh.
A welcoming delegation had already gathered at the port, bearing banners adorned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon. At the front of the group stood Ser Balon Swann, captain of the guard, and Ashara Dayne, commander of the city's defenses. Beside them was Dickon Tarly, clad in his peculiar silver-plated armor, leading the elite Dragon Guard.
As soon as the ship neared the dock, Wright leaped ashore before it had even come to a complete stop. The mages aboard, eager to emulate him, followed suit, using various spells to make dramatic landings. Their flashy entrances drew cheers from the gathered onlookers.
"Master!" Ashara was the first to rush forward.
"I know what you're going to ask. Here." Wright handed her a large leather satchel filled with exotic fruits.
"Hehe!" Ashara smiled as she hugged the bag tightly.
"Let's go. We're heading to the castle."
Leading his entourage, Wright strode toward the inner city. Construction on the castle had never ceased, and with ample funds at his disposal, the second level was now complete, with work on the third well underway. This meant that any distinguished guests visiting Tyrosh could finally be housed within the castle itself.
Beside the castle, the first floor of the city's magic academy had also been completed. Though it lacked furnishings for now, Wright intended to let the mages from King's Landing arrange it themselves.
The younger members of the group gawked at the city, marveling at how different it was from King's Landing. A few young men, distracted by the scantily clad Tyroshi women walking the streets, nearly tripped over their own feet multiple times.
Ashara's direwolf, Mary, was a large and powerful she-wolf with pure white fur and a tuft of black hair on her forehead—an oddly fitting resemblance to her owner. Since arriving in Tyrosh, Ashara's warging abilities had begun to awaken, and the bond between them had shaped both their personalities to be even more alike.
As commander of the city's defenses, Ashara was effectively being trained as Tyrosh's army general, overseeing a thousand-strong garrison. Her men patrolled the city in shifts, ensuring order. Given that Tyrosh's pleasure industry was one of its main sources of revenue, Wright had imposed heavy taxes on it while also mandating strict protection. This often resulted in Ashara dragging drunken troublemakers out of brothels and beating them senseless in the streets.
Her direwolf had inherited this attitude as well—just as Ashara kept the city's people in line, Mary kept the local stray animals in check.
At first, Ashara had frequently carried Mary to visit Odahviing, and the dragon had taken a liking to the small bundle of fur, even allowing it to lick its claws.
Ever since, Mary had been constantly picking fights. She first dominated the city's cats but often returned from battles against the larger dogs covered in fresh wounds. Undeterred, she would get healed with magic and rush off to fight again the next day.
It wasn't long before the people of Tyrosh gave her a fitting nickname—Bloody Mary.
As Mary grew in size, she had already claimed all of Tyrosh as her territory. Whenever she wanted to sleep, she would let out a few howls, and all the cats and dogs in the city would fall silent, not daring to make another sound. However, when Odahviing arrived, she would immediately run over, eager to greet him.
Now, Mary's three direwolf siblings had arrived—Ghost, belonging to Jon; Lady, belonging to Sansa; and Nymeria, belonging to Arya. Wolves that had already learned to live independently were highly territorial, and even siblings had to obey the hierarchy. Mary now chased after the three of them, nipping at their heels as they ran wild through the streets of the city.
As they walked through the streets, Sansa looked worried that her wolf might be bullied, but Jon reassured her, saying, "Don't worry about the way wolves interact with each other. They all come from the same mother; they won't truly hurt one another. They'll roughhouse for a bit and come back on their own."
"But I'm afraid Lady will get her fur dirty, and I'll have to clean her up again," Sansa replied.
At that, Jon had no idea what to say.
The last time Wright returned, he couldn't even step inside his own home because of the smell on him. But now, at least, he could enter his bedroom.
Inside the bedroom, Nymeria and Tyene were lying on the large couch with their pregnant bellies, eating fruit. The sunlight streamed in through the window, landing perfectly on the couch, and the two of them enjoyed the warmth as they snacked.
However, the room was still quite bright, and when Wright turned his head, he saw Dawnbraker resting on the cabinet—next to it, a lace-covered lampshade. "Hey, are you two using my sword as a lampstand?"
Nymeria shot him a sidelong glance. "What? Do you have a problem with that?"
"Not at all! Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" Wright knew better than to say otherwise.
Nymeria smirked. "You always keep it locked away in a chest. Dawnbraker is a legendary blade; it shouldn't be hidden away in the dark."
"Fair point." Wright ran his fingers along the blade. Given his height and fighting style, this kind of one-handed sword felt too short and awkward for him to use. Leaving it unused was a waste—at least it was serving as a light fixture now.
He walked over to the couch and squeezed himself between the two women, wrapping an arm around each of them. "How are the little ones doing?"
Tyene answered, "No problems at all. We're eating well and sleeping well."
"And you?" Wright was worried about the situation in Dorne affecting Nymeria.
She understood what he was concerned about. "After spending so much time with you, I've learned to see things from a broader perspective. What's happening in Dorne isn't enough to get me worked up."
"That's good. I have plenty of time now, so I'll be staying in Tyrosh with you both." Wright reached out to gently touch their bellies.
Using his life-detection magic, he confirmed that both unborn children were in good health. Nymeria was carrying one, while Tyene was pregnant with twins. Based on the timeline, Nymeria's child would be born first, followed closely by Tyene's.
Nymeria suddenly had a thought. "Wright, regarding Dorne—did you and my father plan this in advance?"
"Absolutely not! It's just how things unfolded naturally. I haven't seen or written to him in years, yet somehow, we reached an understanding."
Different perspectives led to different interpretations of events. Wright briefly explained the situation to Nymeria.
"So you're saying that my child will inherit Dorne? But what about Trystane?" she asked, stroking her belly.
"You don't have to worry about that. I'm sure Oberyn has plans for him—he wouldn't harm his own nephew," Wright reassured her. Though he couldn't be certain, he wanted to ease her concerns.
Nymeria frowned. "Why is my father so determined for my child to inherit Dorne?"
Wright thought for a moment before answering, "Dragons and magic. The future belongs to dragons and magic. This child is Dorne's best chance. If they pass up this opportunity, Dorne will be left with nothing but marriage alliances. And not just any alliances—there are plenty of highborn families lining up for such a chance. If we wait for our child to come of age, then wait for their child to come of age, it'll take at least thirty or forty years, maybe longer. By then, Dorne will have fallen far behind."
"Is that really the case?" Nymeria's eyes widened.
Wright ran his fingers through her hair. "Don't think your father is acting purely out of selfishness. What he's doing is for himself, yes, but also for Dorne. His heart has always belonged to his homeland."
Nymeria sighed. "Then does that mean my child will have to take the name Nymeros Martell?"
At this point, Wright had to clarify the matter of inheritance.
"The name doesn't matter to me. As long as they carry my blood, they are my children."
He pulled Tyene closer.
"In the future, Tyrosh's territory will continue to expand, so each of my children can only inherit one domain. Nymeria, once your child inherits Dorne, the title of Lord of Tyrosh will go to Tyene's children."
"What? My children?" Tyene exclaimed, shocked. Nymeria was equally surprised.
"Is this really okay?" Tyrene glanced at Wright, then at Nymeria.
The two women had been by Wright's side for a long time. Their way of handling things had become very similar to his, but in some aspects, they still held traditional views—especially when it came to inheritance. Tyrene had never considered that her children would have any claim to succession; she simply wanted them to grow up happily by Wright's side. Nymeria, on the other hand, had always planned to have another child in the future to inherit Tyrosh.
"I never married Tyrene, so by law, her child is a bastard. But that child is still mine—one day, they will ride a dragon and wield magic as a true Dragonlord! Any direct descendant of mine will bear the name Baratheon. The same goes for your child, Nymeria—until their claim to Dorne is fully secured, they will also be a Baratheon before taking the name Martell."
Nymeria looked somewhat dejected, prompting Wright to pull her into his arms. "You've seen that old ancestor of Valyria—he and I are the first generation of Dragonlords. That is our greatest advantage, and it is also destiny. Every descendant of ours is bound to be someone of great significance, never just an insignificant bastard."
Tyrene was still struggling to wrap her mind around it. "But didn't you say that man had bastards too?"
Wright tapped his temple. "According to what I've learned, he had many bastards, but he treated them well. Each one was gifted with immense magic and powerful bloodlines. Two of his lines even journeyed eastward, integrating with the locals and founding dynasties of their own."
After absorbing Durnehviir's knowledge, Wright had come to understand many things.
When that man died, Durnehviir and the bastard families had all traveled east, distancing themselves from the Valyrian Empire. Durnehviir settled in the Shadow Lands, while the two bastard families—one with a werewolf bloodline and the other with a vampire bloodline—spread their roots deep into the lands of Yi Ti over thousands of years.
As time passed, both families rose to the pinnacle of power on multiple occasions, only to be overthrown and replaced by new dynasties through war. The original ancient surnames had long been lost in the conflicts between werewolves and vampires, but their bloodlines endured.
Now, in the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, three regimes coexisted in a precarious balance.
The ruler of the azure Dynasty, Bu Gai, was rumored to be a hunchback, but in truth, he bore the werewolf bloodline. His posture was a stance for launching an attack, ingrained through years of training, to the point that he unconsciously maintained it even in human form.
The ruler of the Yellow Dynasty was often referred to as a sorcerer—a title given to him by outsiders. In reality, he was a vampire. When he wielded blood magic, it appeared sinister and unnatural to those unfamiliar with it.
The third regime, the Orange-Yellow Dynasty, was a puppet state nurtured by both factions. A so-called general held power, but in truth, it was merely a buffer zone to prevent another war between the two sides.
Nymeria pondered for a moment. "Then how will you arrange the line of succession?"
"I have never placed one of you above the other," Wright stated firmly. "All of our children—whether yours or Tyrene's—will have equal rights to inheritance. It will be determined solely by age, regardless of gender."
The two women finally grasped his meaning—it was as if he was legitimizing bastards.
Wright continued, "Originally, your child was meant to inherit Tyrosh, Nymeria. But once they claim Dorne, they cannot hold both. That means Tyrosh will pass to Tyrene's child. It's as simple as that."
"You are a Lord, so your word is law—but will the nobles and your vassals in Westeros accept this?" Nymeria had come to terms with it, but she was still concerned about Tyrene's child.
Wright clenched his fist. "Anyone who dares to object—I'll wipe them out!"
Nymeria sighed. "Must you always resort to violence? You've already killed too many people. The child is about to be born. You should do something good for a change."
Wright looked at her double standards—so it was fine when Dorne was about to go to war? As long as he didn't personally swing the sword, it wouldn't count against him?
Nymeria took Tyrene's hand and asked, "Have you decided on a name?"
Tyrene leaned against Wright, her eyes filled with anticipation.
"I've thought of many," Wright said, already reaching for paper and ink. "I'll write them down, and you can help me choose."