ASOIAF : Creed

The idea was madness. Jon knew it was madness, but it had taken root in his mind and would not be dislodged. For weeks, he had studied it from the rooftops, from the decks of swaying canal boats. The Titan of Braavos. It was not just a fortress or a landmark; it was a challenge, a declaration of power in stone and bronze. And Jon, driven by a restless energy he couldn't explain, felt a deep, primal urge to conquer it.

This was not a quest from the System. There was no reward, no experience points waiting for him at the top. This was for him. A test of the skills he had been honing, a way to truly make this city his own.

He began his ascent in the deep, moonless hour before the dawn, starting from the sea-slick rocks at the base of the western leg. Ghost was hidden safely back at the inn, a silent command to stay passed through their bond. This was a climb he had to make alone.

The first part was a brutal test of strength, hauling himself up the sheer, salt-sprayed stone of the foundation. He moved from one small handhold to the next, his fingers aching, the waves crashing against the rocks below. He reached the bronze-plated leg of the colossus and began the true climb, a vertical ascent up a mountain of metal.

He moved like a spider, using the decorative rivets and the seams between the massive plates as his holds. Twice, he had to freeze, flattening himself against the cold bronze as the light from a watchman's torch swept across the area from one of the murder holes far above. He could hear their voices, faint and muffled, and the sound of their dice games. They never looked down. No one ever looked down.

The climb was a blur of aching muscles and focused intent. He used his [Strider] skills, his [Feather Fall] a silent, constant promise that a small slip would not mean death. He reached the Titan's massive stone skirt, a sheer, overhanging cliff of granite. This was the hardest part. He dangled, for a heart-stopping moment, hundreds of feet above the dark, churning water of the lagoon, his entire body screaming in protest, before he found a new hold and hauled himself up onto the main body of the fortress.

He was now in a world of high parapets and narrow ledges, a vertical maze patrolled by the Titan's guard. He moved like a ghost, his [Silent Step] making him a whisper in the wind. He used his upgraded [Sight] to perceive the guards' patrol routes, the glowing lines of their paths a map of safety through the danger. He saw one guard, his orange aura pulsing with boredom, turn a corner, and Jon used that small window to scramble up a drainpipe to the next level.

As he climbed higher, the sky to the east began to soften, shifting from inky black to a deep, bruised purple. He was racing the sun. He reached the massive shoulders of the Titan and began the final, dizzying ascent up the neck and head.

He pulled himself over the final ledge, onto the very crown of the Titan, just as the first ray of sunlight broke over the horizon. He lay there for a long moment, his chest heaving, his body screaming with exhaustion and pain. But he had done it.

He pushed himself to his feet. The view was breathtaking. The entire city of Braavos lay spread out below him like a map on a table, its hundred isles and a thousand canals catching the first golden light of dawn. The city was waking up, the first gondolas beginning to move through the water, their wakes like silver threads in a grey tapestry.

As he drank in the view, a new light began to glow at the very peak of the Titan's helmet, on a precarious bronze spike that served as a lightning rod. It formed into the ethereal shape of a perch, like an eagle's roost, shimmering with a soft, white light. A single line of text hovered above it.

[Synchronization Point Discovered. Step out to survey the area.]

A slow grin spread across Jon's face. He walked to the spike and, with a final, confident movement, stepped out onto the glowing perch. The moment his feet touched it, the world dissolved. His consciousness rocketed upwards, and for a glorious second, he felt like he was soaring. The Sealord's Palace, the Iron Bank, the Moon Pool, the Drowned Mug, every bridge, every canal, every hidden alleyway—all of it was laid bare, their locations and connections burned into a perfect, map in his mind.

Then, just as quickly, his senses snapped back to his own body. He stood on the perch, the morning wind whipping at his hair, but the world felt different. Sharper. More known. 

The descent was far easier than the climb. With the fear of the unknown gone, replaced by a confident certainty and a perfect mental map of every handhold, Jon moved with a speed and grace that would have been impossible just hours before.

He slipped back through the window of their small room at The Drowned Mug just as the sky turned a proper blue. The physical and mental exhaustion hit him like a hammer, but he pushed it down. He was Corvus again. He stripped off his dark outer clothes, splashed his face with cold water, and when Kaelo and Orbelo awoke, he was sitting calmly at the small table, looking as if he had been meditating for hours.

They broke their fast in the inn's common room. Kaelo attacked his plate of bread and salt cod with the focused intensity of a man who had known true hunger, while Orbelo picked at his food with a practiced, if now unmerited, delicacy.

"You eat like you're trying to kill it a second time," Orbelo remarked, dabbing his mouth with a cloth.

Kaelo paused, a chunk of fish halfway to his mouth. "And you eat like you're afraid the bread might have an opinion you disagree with."

Jon ignored them, his mind already turning over the new information he possessed. "Finish up," he said, his voice cutting through their bickering. "We have the training room for another hour."

Later, back in the privacy of their room, the real work began.

"Our objective is proof," Jon stated, looking at Orbelo. "Vengeance is secondary. We need something undeniable that proves you were framed."

Orbelo nodded, his face grim. "The man who replaced me. His name is Tregarro. He is a braavosi of some renown, but he is arrogant and proud of his cunning."

"So we beat it out of him," Kaelo grunted, his hand resting on the pommel of his axe.

"And have his word against ours?" Orbelo countered coolly. "No. The proof would be in his chambers in the manse."

Jon listened, letting them outline the problem. He watched Orbelo draw a crude map on a spare piece of parchment, comparing the sketch to the perfect, three-dimensional model in his own mind.

"A direct assault is out," Jon said, his voice drawing their full attention. He pointed a finger at Orbelo's map, at a spot far from the main entrance. "The manse backs onto the Canal of Cats. The wall there is high, but there's a dyer's shop next door with a flat roof. It gives access to a third-floor balcony."

Orbelo looked up, surprised. "That balcony belongs to the handmaidens' quarters. The guards don't patrol it."

"Good," Jon said. "From there, it's two doors down to Tregarro's suite."

Kaelo grinned, hefting his axe slightly. "Alright. When do we go?"

Jon looked at him, his gaze steady. "No," he said, the single word sharp and final. "I go. Alone."

Both men stared at him. "Alone?" Kaelo burst out, his voice a mix of disbelief and wounded pride. "That's a fortress! What if you're cornered? You need backup. You need a sword arm, not just... skulking."

"He's right," Orbelo added, his practical mind racing. "You don't know the inside of the house! The layout, the furniture, where the guards might be stationed... you'll be stumbling in the dark. I must be there to guide you."

Jon held up a hand, silencing them both with his authority.

"Kaelo," he said, his voice calm. "This isn't a fight. It's about silence. A single person makes less noise than three. Your strength will be needed when we have the proof and choose to strike. This part requires a lighter touch."

He then turned to Orbelo. "Your map is crucial. It will get me to the right floor and the right corridor. Once I am there," Jon paused, meeting the scholar's worried gaze, "I will find what I need. I am better at moving unseen than you can imagine."

The statement was simple, yet delivered with such profound certainty that it left no room for doubt. It wasn't a boast; it was a statement of fact, leaving them to wonder at the source of his confidence.

"I need you both on the outside," Jon continued, solidifying their roles. "I need you thinking, planning for what comes next. Orbelo, you're mission control. I need your mind working on our next step, not trapped with me on the inside. Kaelo, you are the exit. Take a gondola and wait in the Canal of Cats in one hour. If I am not out by the time the moon passes behind the Titan's head, leave."

"And what of you?" Kaelo asked, his voice low and serious.

"Then I will find my own way out," Jon said simply. They looked at each other, their objections dying in the face of his unnerving command. They had no choice but to trust him.

"Now," Jon said, pulling the hood of his dark tunic up. "Tell me again about Tregarro. What does he fear?"