GoT and House of The Dragon: The Last Valyrian Dragonlord.

"The Unsullied will send five of our best warriors, my lord," Silver Scorpion, the leader of the Unsullied, spoke before anyone else could volunteer.

"Silver Scorpion, the Silverblood Guard hasn't even spoken yet. What are you trying to pull?" Aslan Rondel snapped, clearly displeased.

"The Unsullied are better suited for this," Silver Scorpion retorted without hesitation. "While the Silverblood Guard was trained by the old master, their regimen and adaptability to magic are inferior to the Unsullied."

"Proof?" Aslan challenged.

"Silver Scorpion is right." Lorzel nodded in agreement with the eunuch warrior. "When the Unsullied are trained in Astapor, they are given a drink known as 'Courage Wine.' It's called wine, but it's actually a toxic concoction that enhances their resistance to magic."

"Belladonna, bloodfly larvae, and black lotus root from Slaver's Bay. And, of course, a secret ingredient from the alchemists of Asshai," Zesal the Shadowweaver listed the deadly components. As someone well-versed in poisons, he understood their potency. "The slave masters of Astapor use them to numb the Unsullied's bodies. I agree with Silver Scorpion's proposal."

A nearby poison apprentice, Tigalor, quietly took out a small notebook and scribbled down Zesal's formula.

"The Silverblood Guard is the soul of House Valerzes." Aslan pointed to himself. "At the very least, I should remain by your side until my last breath."

"Valar and Rey will accompany me." Lorzel acknowledged Aslan's concern with a nod before continuing, "This was foretold. The three of us share the same blood. With them present, my magic will last longer."

"Brother, you'll need more men," Valar pointed out. "Rey needs protection, and we can't have him following us too deep into the ruins."

"I can handle myself," Rey protested. "I'm already twelve! When you were my age, you were riding with Father against the Dothraki. Why shouldn't I be allowed into the ruins?"

Lorzel ruffled his younger brother's hair. "Fine, Rey. Since you insist, you'll come with us. Just don't start crying later."

That finally brought a smile back to Rey's face.

"I will remain on the Silent Lord with Tigalor and little Adams." Zesal the Shadowweaver stood up and volunteered. "The boy and I will ensure your rear remains as steady as a fortress."

Lorzel gave him an approving nod. Zesal and Tigalor were poison specialists, but their combat abilities were lacking. Keeping them on the ship was a wise decision.

"Aslan, Amos, Sebastian—you three will command the Silverblood Guard. Pick your men carefully." Lorzel began issuing orders.

"How many should I take?" Aslan asked. With only fifteen spots available, the Unsullied had already taken five. Lorzel's personal followers accounted for six more. That left only four slots, plus the Red Priest.

"Lynn shares my blood." Though Lorzel had removed the magical properties from Lynn's blood with his consent, their connection remained. As a result, Lorzel could use his blood magic directly on Lynn without any external catalysts. "He won't need potions to activate protective runes."

Lynn Valterken had learned of his true heritage after Lorzel took him in. But being a bastard descendant of Princess Senilla was more curse than blessing. To avoid the dangers his lineage brought, he had begged Lorzel to suppress his bloodline with magic.

At least now, he no longer had to fear his ancestry. And as Lorzel's kin, his status remained intact.

"I don't need your potions either," the Red Priest muttered. "R'hllor's power is strong here. My magic will protect me."

With Lynn and the priest refusing magical aid, Aslan reassigned their slots to eager Silverblood warriors hungry to prove themselves.

Lorzel did not object. He trusted the Silverblood Guard's loyalty. After all, they were not only his father's hand-picked elite, but nearly all of them had consumed a special concoction infused with Lorzel's own blood.

There were no side effects—only an unbreakable bond. A bond that made them instinctively loyal to Lorzel and, by extension, to his bloodline.

"Lynn, you and Ago, Hofa—you're with us." Lorzel scanned the assembled warriors. They all stood at attention, awaiting orders.

With the team assembled, the Silent Lord, flanked by the Weeping Boy and the Sailfish, veered off course toward the Smoking Sea. Upon reaching the edge of the Valyrian Peninsula, the ship dropped anchor.

Smaller boats, inscribed with glowing red-and-silver runes, were lowered into the water. As soon as the runes touched the murky, sulfuric sea, they shimmered faintly, as though something beneath the waves was carrying them forward. Without oars or rowers, the boats moved swiftly toward their destination.

"Lynn, something doesn't feel right." Hofa, the golden-eyed youth clad in polished chainmail, edged closer to Lynn, his eyes scanning the water.

The sea was thick, almost boiling. The air reeked of sulfur. Hofa may not have seen it, but Lynn could make out shadows lurking beneath the waves.

And he knew Lorzel could see them too.

"Hofa, stay sharp," Ago muttered. He remained dressed in traditional Dothraki fashion—bare-chested, unarmored. But his skin was painted with silver-and-red patterns that glowed dimly in the dark.

Hofa nodded and returned to his post, keeping his spear at the ready.

The boats continued gliding across the water.

"Brother, do you see that?" Valar tightened his grip on his spear, staring at the sea.

Lorzel rested a hand on the hilt of his sword—Widow's Black Skirt, a Valyrian steel blade devoid of ornamentation. Pure black, like the abyss.

House Valerzes had once wielded a more regal blade, Silverblood, as their ancestral weapon. But when Emperor Orion vanished, taking the sword with him, the family was left with only this one—a relic left behind by Orion's wife in Qohor.

"I see it." Lorzel could barely describe what he was witnessing. Shadows on the filthy water twisted into writhing human figures, beckoning, luring, warning.

He glimpsed flashes from a fire ritual past, heard whispers that defied comprehension.

But this time, the voices were unclear.

Rey saw even more than Valar, though not as much as Lorzel. Recognizing the danger, he shut his eyes before they could betray him.

The sea suddenly swelled. A colossal shadow rose beneath the boats, surfacing for a moment before sinking back into the abyss, indifferent to the invaders above.

Everyone released the breath they hadn't realized they were holding, lowering their weapons in unison.

The Valyrian Peninsula loomed closer.

They found a suitable landing site. In groups of three, they disembarked, eyes scanning the ruins with wary precision.

Once, this had been a bustling port. Now, it was a smoldering wasteland.

Black fog swirled between crumbling structures, where rivers of molten red snaked through the cracks. The ruins bore no resemblance to the once-proud city they had been.

Not a single sign of life.

They advanced cautiously inland.

At first, the journey was uneventful. They navigated the devastated port, passed collapsed towers, and made their way through shattered streets.

Then, as they stepped through the remnants of a ruined watchtower—

Hofa suddenly lunged, spear flashing.

A shriek split the air, piercing their ears like a thousand nails scraping steel. Lorzel reacted instantly, drawing Widow's Black Skirt in a single motion.

No blood.

Only molten ichor, bubbling like fresh magma.

The thing that had been hiding in the darkness slumped to the ground, writhing.

A severed limb. Featureless, alien.

"Stay alert! On guard!" A Silverblood warrior barely had time to cry out before something lunged from the shadows, piercing straight through his breastplate as though it were paper.

A chorus of clicking, chittering sounds echoed through the ruins.

And from the abyss, they emerged.