100 AC.
The air in Volantis was heavy with power, like a coiled snake poised to strike. It clung to Hadrian as he stepped off Prongs and into the bustling harbor. The docks of Volantis were a storm of sound and motion—men shouting orders, slaves hauling crates, and merchants hawking their wares. The sheer enormity of the city hit Hadrian like a wave.
It was not like Lys, with its sultry streets and whispered decadence, nor was it like Myr, steeped in the sharp tang of craft and glassmaking. Volantis was older, more raw. It reeked of ambition and dominance, from the tiger-striped banners fluttering atop every tower to the sheer granite faces of the city's walls, darkened by time and soot. The people, too, bore the city's essence in their gait and gaze. They walked with purpose, their heads high and shoulders squared, as if they belonged to something greater than themselves.
"Not a city of whores or traders," Hadrian murmured, half to himself, "but a city of power."
He turned to his guards, six of them in total, their cloaks blending with the shadows of the harbor. They were his trusted companions, Skagosi men hardened by the unforgiving land of their birth. Silent and watchful, they followed his every step, their sharp eyes scanning the crowds. Hadrian, ever the outsider in this strange new world, drew some comfort from their presence.
"This city feels alive," one of the guards muttered, his voice low and gravelly.
"It's a beast," Hadrian replied, his tone measured. "And beasts are to be treated with caution."
With that, they began their ascent into the city proper, leaving the crowded docks behind.
It did not take long to find a market. Like a great beating heart, it pulsed at the city's center, a cacophony of color and chaos. Stalls crowded the wide square, their canopies of red, gold, and green fabric snapping in the breeze. The air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic spices, roasting meats, and the faint, metallic tang of the sea.
Hadrian's sharp eyes swept over the goods on display: bolts of fine silk shimmering like liquid fire, caged songbirds that chirped in foreign tongues, and baubles of gold and jade glittering in the sunlight. Around him, traders called out their wares in thickly accented Valyrian and the Common Tongue, their voices rising and falling like the waves.
"Stay close," Hadrian instructed his guards. "This is not a place to lose one's way."
As they moved through the crowd, Hadrian caught sight of a peculiar stall. It was unassuming at first glance, tucked between a seller of jeweled daggers and a vendor of aromatic oils. But the man behind the counter caught Hadrian's attention. He was wiry and weathered, his skin tanned from years at sea. His eyes, however, were what drew Hadrian in—they glinted with a peculiar light, as though the man held secrets too vast to be contained.
Hadrian approached the stall, his guards flanking him like silent sentinels. The merchant grinned widely, revealing a row of crooked teeth.
"Welcome, my lord," the man said, his voice raspy but strangely melodic. "You've the look of a man bound for adventure. Perhaps you'll need a rope, eh? Strong enough to hold against the mightiest storm!" He grabbed a coil of rope from the counter and held it up as though it were a holy relic.
Hadrian raised an eyebrow. "A rope?"
"Aye, my lord, a rope! Not just any rope, mind you. This here is made from the fibers of the white kraken's beard! It'll save lives, mark my words. Many a great captain has owed his survival to a rope like this."
Hadrian suppressed a smile. The man seemed more than a little mad, but there was something endearing about his fervor. "I'm sure it's a fine rope," Hadrian said, his tone polite but distant. "But I'm in need of something else."
The merchant's grin faltered, then returned with even greater intensity. "Something else, eh? Tell me, my lord, and I'll fetch it for you. Whatever it is, I've likely got it—or can find it."
"I'm looking for maps," Hadrian said, his voice firm. "Maps of the sea, of the lands beyond the known world. Do you have such a thing?"
The merchant's eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously. "Maps! Oh, aye, I've got maps. Maps of lands you've never dreamed of, my lord. Wait here!"
The man disappeared into the back of his stall, muttering excitedly to himself about captains and treasures and the great unknown. One of Hadrian's guards, a burly man named Osric, leaned in close.
"Either he's a lunatic, or we've stumbled upon something worthwhile," Osric muttered.
"Perhaps both," Hadrian replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
When the merchant returned, his arms were laden with rolled parchments and scrolls. He spread them out on the counter with a flourish, his movements quick and eager.
"Here we are, my lord! The finest collection of maps you'll find in Volantis—or anywhere else, for that matter."
Hadrian leaned in, his gaze sharp. One by one, he examined the maps.
The first was a detailed depiction of Westeros, its rivers and mountains rendered with surprising accuracy. He noted the Crownlands in particular—every inlet and bay was marked, a testament to the cartographer's skill.
The second map was of Sothoryos, a place Hadrian had only read about in passing. The landmass sprawled across the parchment like a sleeping beast, its jungles and rivers marked with strange symbols. Whether it was accurate or not, Hadrian couldn't tell.
Finally, his eyes fell on a map of Old Valyria. His breath caught as he studied it. The Smoking Sea was rendered in dark, swirling ink, while the ruins of Valyria itself were marked with cryptic symbols and notes in High Valyrian.
"What can you tell me about this one?" Hadrian asked, tapping the Valyrian map.
The merchant's grin widened, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ah, Valyria. The land of dragons and doom. Few dare to sail its waters, my lord, and fewer still return. But those who do... they speak of treasures beyond imagining. Gold, jewels, lost tomes of magic."
Hadrian's interest was piqued, but he kept his expression neutral. "And the map itself? Is it accurate?"
The merchant hesitated, then shrugged. "As accurate as any can be, my lord. The Smoking Sea changes with the winds, they say, and the ruins of Valyria are not kind to those who linger. But this map—it's the best guide you'll find."
Hadrian nodded. "I'll take it. And the others as well."
The merchant clapped his hands together, his glee unmistakable. "A fine choice, my lord! A wise choice! May these maps guide you to fortune and glory."
With the maps safely tucked away, Hadrian and his guards made their way back through the market. The bustling square seemed even more chaotic than before, but Hadrian's thoughts were elsewhere.
"Osric," Hadrian said as they walked, "what do you make of that man?"
"He's mad," Osric replied without hesitation. "But there's often truth to be found in madness. If the map of Valyria holds even a fraction of the secrets he claims, it will be worth the gold we spent."
Hadrian nodded. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, but he could feel the pull of Valyria like a lodestone. The ruins called to him, whispering of knowledge and power waiting to be claimed.
As they reached the docks, Hadrian cast one last glance at the sprawling city of Volantis. The harbor was alive with activity, the ships bobbing gently in the water like slumbering leviathans.
"Let's return to Prongs," Hadrian said, his voice steady. "The Smoking Sea awaits."