The "offering" for the Cannibal turned out to be the carcass of an enormous sea creature—something like a cross between a whale and a shark—that the villagers had apparently been saving for a special occasion. It took eight strong men to drag it on a wooden sledge along the path to the rocky outcropping where the dragon waited.
"Your enthusiasm is... appreciated," I told Kira, who walked beside me, practically vibrating with religious fervor, "but I should probably go ahead and warn him you're coming. He can be a bit... territorial."
Okay, maybe territorial was putting it mildly. The Cannibal had lived up to his name for centuries by eating anything that approached him uninvited—including other dragons.
Kira nodded solemnly. "Of course, Dragon's Chosen. We will wait for your signal."
I jogged ahead, leaving the procession behind. As I climbed the rocky path to the outcropping, I could see the Cannibal's massive form silhouetted against the setting sun. He raised his head at my approach, those eerie yellow eyes tracking my movement.
"WE HAVE BEEN DISCOVERED, I SEE," he observed drily as I reached him.
"Yeah, so much for the subtle approach." I sighed, dropping onto a boulder beside his foreleg. "It seems the local elder is some kind of prophet or fortune-teller. He already knew about you, and now they think I'm the 'Dragon's Chosen' or something from their legends."
The Cannibal made a snorting sound that passed for mockery. "HOW INCONVENIENT FOR YOU."
"You don't seem surprised," I noted suspiciously.
"THERE ARE MANY OLD PROPHECIES IN THIS WORLD, ICHIGO KUROSAKI. SOME SPEAK OF A WARRIOR FROM BEYOND THE KNOWN REALMS WHO WOULD RIDE THE GREATEST OF DRAGONS." He tilted his massive head. "I SIMPLY DID NOT EXPECT SUCH ISOLATED FOLK TO RECALL THOSE PARTICULAR LEGENDS."
"Wait—you knew about this prophecy stuff?" I stared at him in disbelief. "And you didn't think to mention it?"
"IT SEEMED... PREMATURE. BESIDES, SUCH PREDICTIONS ARE OFTEN VAGUE AND EASILY MISINTERPRETED." The dragon shifted his weight, his scales scraping against stone. "WHAT ELSE HAVE THESE VILLAGERS OFFERED BESIDES THEIR WORSHIP?"
"Actually, they're bringing you a giant sea monster as an offering. They should be here any minute." I gestured back down the path. "Try not to eat any of them, okay? They're just trying to help."
"THEIR TRIBUTE IS ACCEPTABLE." The Cannibal raised his head higher, looking past me to where the procession was now visible on the path. "AND I SHALL REFRAIN FROM DEVOURING THE GIFT-BEARERS. THIS TIME."
"'This time?' How generous of you," I said sarcastically.
When the villagers reached us, their reaction to the Cannibal was everything I'd expected—awe, terror, and religious ecstasy all mixed together. They prostrated themselves before setting down their offering, not daring to look directly at the massive dragon.
Kira, braver than the rest, stepped forward and performed an elaborate bow. "Great One, accept this humble tribute from the people of Razorcliff, who have kept the old faith since the days of the Doom."
The Cannibal regarded her silently for a moment, then inclined his head in what could almost be called a gracious nod. The villagers took this as a positive sign, backing away while maintaining their bows.
"THEY ARE WELL-TRAINED," the dragon observed privately to me. "PERHAPS THIS UNEXPECTED REVERENCE WILL PROVE USEFUL."
Once the villagers were at what they considered a safe distance, the Cannibal approached the sea monster carcass. With surprising delicacy for a creature his size, he began to tear chunks from it, consuming the offering with evident enjoyment.
I turned to Kira, who was watching the show with rapt attention. "Elder Torrys mentioned a faster way to reach Westeros than the merchant caravan. What did he mean?"
She tore her eyes away from the feasting dragon. "The elder will explain at tonight's gathering. There will be a celebration in your honor—in both your honors," she added with another reverent glance at the Cannibal.
A party? I'm already feeling exhausted.
"I appreciate the hospitality," I said carefully, "but I really need to continue my journey as soon as possible."
"All will be explained tonight," she insisted. "The elder has consulted the bones. The path is clear."
I knew better than to argue further. These people had their own customs and beliefs, and I was already deeply entangled in them. Better to play along and see what useful information or assistance they might provide.
As the sun disappeared below the horizon, Kira led me back to the village while the Cannibal continued his feast. The settlement had transformed in my absence—torches and bonfires lit the open spaces, tables had been dragged outdoors and laden with food, and what looked like the entire population had gathered in their finest clothing.
"The Welcoming Feast," Kira explained, leading me to a place of honor near the largest fire. "Not celebrated in three generations. Your coming fulfills the oldest prophecy."
Elder Torrys was already seated nearby, dressed in more elaborate robes than before, with what appeared to be dragon motifs embroidered along the edges. Various village elders and prominent citizens were arranged around us, all watching me with barely contained excitement.
"Tonight, we honor the Dragon's Chosen," Torrys announced as I took my seat. "The warrior from beyond the Smoking Sea whose coming was foretold in the Days Before the Doom."
This prompted cheers and raised cups from the assembled villagers. I smiled awkwardly, uncomfortable with the unearned adoration but unwilling to offend my hosts.
The feast that followed was surprisingly lavish for such a simple village. Fish prepared in a dozen different ways, unfamiliar grains and vegetables, and a sweet fermented drink that packed more punch than it initially let on. Throughout the meal, various villagers approached to offer gifts—small carved tokens, pieces of colored glass, even a finely crafted knife that I accepted with genuine appreciation.
When the eating slowed, musicians appeared with strange stringed instruments and drums, playing haunting melodies that soon had many villagers dancing around the fires. The celebration was in full swing when Torrys finally leaned over to speak to me privately.
"I have arranged for your journey, Dragon's Chosen," he said, his eyes bright in the firelight. "Three of our most skilled sailors will take you by ship along the coast to the port of King's Landing. From there, it is a short journey overland to the Red Keep."
"King's Landing?" I remembered the Cannibal mentioning it as the Targaryen capital. "How long will the journey take?"
"With favorable winds, ten days to Duskendale. Then perhaps another two days to King's Landing." Torrys stroked his beard. "Our vessel, the Swift Current, is small but fast. My grandson Darro captains her."
"That's very generous," I said. "I accept your offer, with gratitude."
Torrys clasped my forearm. "It is we who are grateful, Dragon's Chosen. Your coming renews our faith and reminds us of our purpose."
I was about to ask what exactly that purpose was when a disturbance at the edge of the celebration caught my attention. Lazeo Maar, the merchant I'd spoken with earlier, was arguing heatedly with one of the village men. Seeing me looking his way, he broke off and approached our table, bowing stiffly.
"Forgive the interruption, Elder," he said, though his eyes were on me. "I merely wished to confirm that our arrangement for travel to Pentos still holds."
Before I could respond, Torrys answered for me. "The Dragon's Chosen follows a different path now, merchant. The bones have spoken."
Lazeo's face darkened. "I see. Convenient how the bones speak to redirect valuable assets to your own purposes, Elder." He turned to me. "Be wary, stranger. The 'old faith' these villagers practice has more to do with controlling those around them than any true reverence for dragons."
"You forget yourself, Maar," Torrys said coldly. "You are a guest here, tolerated for the trade you bring. Do not test that tolerance."
The tension between them was palpable. I stood, hoping to defuse the situation. "The elder has offered me direct passage to Westeros, which better serves my needs," I explained to Lazeo. "I appreciate your offer, but this route makes more sense for me."
Lazeo studied me for a moment, then nodded curtly. "As you wish. But remember, stranger—prophecies have a way of benefiting those who interpret them, not those who fulfill them." With another stiff bow, he withdrew, disappearing into the crowd.
"Pay him no mind," Torrys advised as I sat back down. "Traders from the Free Cities have no understanding of the old ways. They worship only gold and profit."
I wasn't so sure. Lazeo's warning had seemed genuine, if self-interested. But I had little choice now—I'd accepted Torrys's offer, and it did seem the most direct route to where I needed to go.
As the celebration continued around me, a young man approached—perhaps a few years younger than me, with the same weathered complexion as the other villagers but a more confident bearing.
"I am Darro," he introduced himself with a respectful nod. "Captain of the Swift Current and grandson to the elder. It will be my honor to convey you to King's Landing."
"Thanks," I said, sizing him up. He seemed capable enough—clear-eyed and steady. "Have you made this journey before?"
"Many times," he confirmed. "Though never with such... distinguished company." His eyes flickered upward, in the direction of the outcropping where the Cannibal rested. "The waters can be treacherous, especially near the Stepstones, but Swift Current is equal to the challenge."
"What can you tell me about Westeros?" I asked. "I should know what to expect when we arrive."
Darro glanced at his grandfather, who nodded permission for him to sit and join our conversation.
"The Seven Kingdoms have been ruled by House Targaryen for over a century," Darro began, accepting a cup of the fermented drink. "Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives unified the formerly independent realms with fire and blood—that's their house words, by the way. 'Fire and Blood.'"
"Charming," I deadpanned.
"The current king is Viserys, first of his name," Darro continued. "By all accounts a decent ruler, if not as forceful as some of his predecessors. His wife, Queen Aemma, died in childbirth, along with the male heir she was carrying. This has created... tension regarding the succession."
"Why?" I asked. "Doesn't the king have other children?"
"One daughter—Princess Rhaenyra. But Westeros has never had a ruling queen. The king's brother, Prince Daemon, believes himself the rightful heir, though many find him... unsuitable for the throne."
Family Politics. Nice. "And these Targaryens—they still practice the old Valyrian magic?"
Darro shrugged. "Some say they do, in secret. They certainly maintain the largest collection of Valyrian texts and artifacts outside the ruins themselves. Their castle on Dragonstone was built using techniques lost since the Doom—towers shaped like dragons, gargoyles that seem almost alive in certain storms."
"Their dragons—how many do they have now?" I asked, thinking of the Cannibal's potential reaction to encountering others of his kind.
"At least half a dozen," Torrys interjected. "Though none as magnificent as your Great One, of course," he added hastily.
"Yeah, of course," I agreed, wondering if that was true or just flattery. The Cannibal certainly considered himself superior to any Targaryen-tamed dragon, but was that reality or draconic ego?
"The princess herself rides Syrax," Darro added. "A yellow-cream she-dragon, young but fierce. Prince Daemon commands Caraxes, called the Blood Wyrm for his red scales, long neck, and ferocity in battle."
This was valuable information. If I was going to navigate Targaryen court politics—something I was absolutely not looking forward to—knowing about their dragons might provide important leverage.
"I'll warn you, though," Darro continued, leaning in slightly, "King's Landing is notoriously... fragrant. The city has grown faster than its sewers or planning could accommodate. And the politics are even more foul than the smell."
"I figured," I grimaced. "What about the other uh—nobles? The ones that ruled before the Targaryens conquered them?"
Darro spent the next hour giving me a crash course in Westerosi politics—the Starks of the frozen North, the wealthy Lannisters of the west, the seafaring Velaryons who had allied with the Targaryens through marriage, and others. It was a lot to absorb, but I tried to commit the key points to memory.
"And there's Lord Corlys Velaryon," Darro added, lowering his voice slightly. "The Sea Snake, they call him. Richest man in the Seven Kingdoms and husband to Princess Rhaenys, who some once thought should be queen herself."
As the night wore on, the celebration showed no signs of abating, but my own energy was flagging. After days of flying and the stress of new surroundings, exhaustion was catching up with me. Noticing my fatigue, Torrys directed a young boy to show me to a small but clean dwelling that had been prepared for me.
"Rest well, Dragon's Chosen," the elder said as I rose to leave. "Tomorrow you begin the next stage of your journey."
The hut was simple but comfortable, with a straw-filled mattress that felt luxurious after sleeping on volcanic rock. Before lying down, I stepped outside briefly to check on the Cannibal. Our bond allowed me to sense his general presence and state—he was still on the outcropping, sated from his feast and keeping silent watch over the village.
"We sail for King's Landing in the morning," I sent the thought his way, unsure if he would receive it clearly.
"I HEARD YOUR CONVERSATION," came his reply, confirming that he could indeed eavesdrop on my interactions when he chose to.
"And what do you think about meeting other dragons? The Targaryen mounts?"
There was a pause before his response. "THEY ARE PALE SHADOWS OF TRUE DRAGONS—DOMESTICATED BEASTS WHO HAVE FORGOTTEN THEIR POWER. THEY POSE NO THREAT OR CHALLENGE TO ME."
The smugness in his mental voice was unmistakable. "Just... try not to eat any of them, okay? I'd rather not start a war my first day in Westeros."
"I MAKE NO PROMISES, ICHIGO KUROSAKI. BUT I SHALL... CONSIDER YOUR REQUEST."
That was probably the best I could hope for. I returned to my borrowed bed and lay down, my mind racing with everything I'd learned. Targaryens with their dragons and succession crisis. Ancient prophecies that somehow involved me. A journey to the capital of a kingdom I knew nothing about just a week ago.
And somewhere in all of that, hopefully, a way home.
Despite my whirling thoughts, exhaustion soon won out. My last conscious thought was a fleeting wonder about what my friends back in Karakura Town would say if they could see me now—the so-called "Dragon's Chosen," about to sail to a city of dragon lords.
Rukia would probably hit me. Uryū would adjust his glasses and make some sarcastic comment about my talent for finding trouble. Chad would just nod stoically. And Orihime... she'd probably think it was all amazing and wonderful, dragons and prophecies and magic.
I missed them.
***********
Morning came with a clamor of activity. The entire village seemed to be helping prepare for our departure, loading the Swift Current with provisions and making final preparations to the vessel. I found Darro at the small harbor, directing the organized chaos with the confidence of someone much older than his years.
"We sail with the tide," he informed me as I approached. "Less than an hour now."
The Swift Current was smaller than I'd expected—perhaps fifty feet long, with a single mast and a shallow draft. But its lines were sleek, and the crew moved with practiced efficiency.
"She doesn't look like much," Darro admitted, noticing my assessment, "but she's the fastest vessel on this coast. Built for speed, not cargo."
"She'll do fine," I assured him, not that I had any expertise in seafaring. The sooner we reached Westeros, the better.
I spent the remaining time before departure with the Cannibal, explaining our route and the plan for him to follow the ship.
"SAILING," he grumbled. "SUCH A TEDIOUS MODE OF TRANSPORTATION. I COULD CARRY YOU ACROSS THIS NARROW SEA IN A FRACTION OF THE TIME."
"Yes, but then we'd arrive with me half-frozen and exhausted from exposure," I pointed out. "This way we both conserve our strength for whatever awaits us in King's Landing."
"A VALID CONSIDERATION," he conceded reluctantly. "I SHALL FOLLOW YOUR LITTLE BOAT, THOUGH I MAY RANGE AHEAD AT TIMES TO SCOUT THE PATH OR HUNT."
"Just stay within sensing range," I requested. "I'd rather not lose contact with you entirely."
"OUR BOND STRETCHES FARTHER THAN YOU MIGHT THINK, ICHIGO KUROSAKI. BUT I SHALL REMAIN WITHIN REACH OF YOUR MIND."
When the time came to depart, it seemed the entire village had gathered to see us off. Torrys performed some kind of blessing ritual, waving smoking bundles of herbs and chanting in a language even my magically-enhanced comprehension couldn't decipher.
"Remember," he told me as I prepared to board, "the old prophecies speak of the Dragon's Chosen returning to the source of fire, bringing both salvation and destruction. Your path may not be easy, but it is necessary."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, not entirely comfortable with the weight of expectation in his words. I wasn't here to fulfill anyone's prophecy—I just wanted to find a way home.
With final farewells exchanged, I boarded the Swift Current with Darro and his crew of seven seasoned sailors. As we pushed away from the dock, the villagers raised their voices in some kind of chant or hymn, the sound following us out into the bay.
The Cannibal launched himself from his rocky perch, circling once above the village—causing the chanting to reach a fever pitch—before winging his way out over the water, following our course but staying high enough that he might be mistaken for a large bird by distant observers.
"And so it begins," Darro said quietly beside me as we watched the shoreline recede. "The journey of the Dragon's Chosen to the realm of the dragon lords."
I said nothing, my eyes fixed on the western horizon. Somewhere out there was King's Landing, and with it, hopefully, the knowledge I needed to find my way back to where I belonged. All I could do was press on and hope that the answers I sought would be worth the trouble of finding them.