The next day, once everything on the islands was in order, Logar and Nettles set out.
The Cannibal unfurled his enormous black wings. Sheepstealer followed right behind. The two dragons carried them soaring toward the continent of Essos.
The flight to Lys was long. Riding high on the Cannibal, Logar gazed down at the endless ocean, watching dolphins leap and dive through the waves. For the first time in ages, his mind actually relaxed.
Ever since he crossed over, every waking moment had been battle or business. A quiet stretch of sky like this—simply enjoying the view—was a rare luxury.
Sunlight danced across the water in glittering waves. A soft breeze tugged at his silver hair. For once, the weight on his shoulders lifted, and he let himself drift with the rhythm of the sea and sky.
Nettles noticed his closed eyes and asked gently, "Lord Logar, what are you thinking about? Didn't sleep well last night?"
Logar opened his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. "No. I was just thinking… maybe people don't need to rush all the time. If we slowed down once in a while and actually looked at the scenery around us, life might feel a little more beautiful."
Nettles burst out laughing. "You sound like an old man! You're still so young, and you're already a powerful lord with your own islands. Don't you think you'll have plenty of time to enjoy every view you want?"
Logar shook his head. "Actually, I wasn't always this lucky. Before I reached the Stepstones, I spent every day scrambling just to eat. My biggest dream back then was owning a small patch of land, planting a few flowers and vegetables, and living a quiet life."
He was talking about his previous world—the endless overtime, the exhaustion, the sudden death that had flung him here.
Hearing the quiet weight in his voice, Nettles felt a tug at her heart. "I didn't know you had it so rough before…"
Logar gave a small sigh. "Now that I'm a dragonrider, my goals have grown far beyond that old dream.
But the heavier the burden, the less time there is to breathe. I still haven't been able to live the simple life I once imagined.
Maybe that's just how it is—none of us are truly in control."
Nettles stared at his handsome face, at the unexpected trace of weariness that didn't belong to someone his age. She couldn't look away.
After a long moment she spoke softly, "I never knew your old dream was so simple…
It reminds me of what I used to wish for. Back on Tidehead, trying to feed my little brothers and sisters with nowhere to sleep… I used to dream that one day I'd have enough money to build a huge orphanage. I'd take in every orphan I could find and give them a safe roof over their heads."
She glanced at him shyly, cheeks turning pink. "You probably think my dream sounds silly, don't you?"
Logar looked at her, something soft stirring inside his chest.
"Not at all," he said gently. "I think your dream is wonderful. And I know you'll make it happen."
"Hee hee, thank you, Lord Logar." Nettles beamed, heart soaring at his praise.
She stroked Sheepstealer's smooth scales, eyes full of quiet hope. "Once the war for Queen Rhaenyra is over, I'll take my brothers and sisters somewhere no one knows us. I'll open that orphanage, keep Sheepstealer nearby, and we'll all live a simple, peaceful life."
A passing seagull cried overhead, as if agreeing with her.
Logar didn't reply. He only let out a silent sigh in his heart.
Everyone longed for peace. In this cruel, chaotic world, peace had become the rarest luxury of all.
...
Essos — Lys.
The city of Lys stood on rocky cliffs overlooking the Summer Sea. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, fruit orchards bloomed, and the waters teemed with colorful fish.
Besides its breathtaking scenery, Lys was famous across the world for its pleasure houses and luxurious tourism. Even during the days of the Valyrian Freehold, it had been the favorite vacation spot of dragonlords.
But these past few days, a dark cloud hung over the entire city.
After the Triarchy's massive fleet sailed into the Narrow Sea to raid Black territory, a colossal naval battle had erupted.
In the end, of the ninety-plus ships and thousands of men who had set out, only twenty-odd vessels limped home—with fewer than eight hundred survivors.
Because Logar had killed Lys's admiral Sharako Lohar, the Lysene ships had fared far worse than in the original timeline. Of the twenty that returned, only five belonged to Lys.
When the news of defeat reached the city, Lys erupted in grief and chaos.
Countless ship owners and merchants had poured everything into the gamble, hoping to plunder Black lands while the Targaryens were distracted. Instead they had lost everything—some even their lives.
Now the bankrupt men flooded the streets, their furious shouts hammering against the council hall like a storm about to break.
Inside the opulent council chamber, Archon Bambarro Bazanne hid in his private rooms, face drawn with exhaustion.
He wasn't old, but the string of defeats had hollowed him out. His cheeks were sunken, eyes ringed with dark circles—the look of a man drowning in debt and fear.
Even before sending the fleet, he had already been unable to pay his mercenaries. He had pinned every hope on this raid to refill his coffers and settle his massive loans.
Instead, the Targaryen dragons had shattered his last chance.
"Damn it! The Blacks suddenly gained five new dragonriders? With their original dragons, they now have almost as many as a second-tier Valyrian dragonlord family!"
Bambarro still couldn't believe the reports the survivors had brought back. It felt like the gods were laughing at him.
"At least I still have one prize," he muttered, thinking of the young prisoner his men had delivered. "The Targaryen whelp called Viserys."
Sitting at his desk, listening to the angry roar outside, Bambarro finally felt a sliver of relief.
This was a priceless card. With Queen Rhaenyra having just lost another son, her male heirs were now even more precious. He could ransom the boy for a fortune—or sell him to the highest bidder. Either way, it would buy him enough time to breathe.
He was about to change clothes and go see the prince when a servant burst in, panicked.
"My lord! The Rogare family is outside demanding to see you—they're furious!
And… the envoy from the Iron Bank of Braavos is here again, demanding payment!"
Between the rioting citizens and the ruthless creditors, Bambarro felt his head splitting.
He was about to curse when—
ROAR—!!
A thunderous dragon roar exploded across the sky above Lys, drowning out every other sound.
Bambarro froze, then rushed to the balcony and looked up.
A colossal black shadow was diving straight toward the city. Its wings were so vast they blotted out the sunlight.
The Cannibal hovered above Lys, jaws slightly parted, scorching heat rolling from his maw.
On the dragon's back, a silver-haired figure stood tall and proud.
Logar looked down at the panicked streets below, his voice ringing out across the entire city in perfect High Valyrian:
"I am Logar, captain of the World Devourers and rider of the Cannibal!
I come today in the name of House Targaryen of Westeros."
His cold violet eyes swept across the stunned faces below.
"Deliver Prince Viserys to me at once—
or face the consequences!"