I returned to the tent and began preparing to leave. I went into the supplies, found a Dothraki outfit and some bells that the men wear in their hair. I pulled out some rosemary and black tea I had stolen and imagined a grinding bowl. A black bowl materialized, and I started grinding the ingredients. I mixed them with water, then dyed my long hair.
I imagined a copy of myself appearing in front of me, and it began braiding my hair into a long braid. When it was done, I bathed and looked into the mirror. The dye hadn't washed out, but my hair looked silver-gray. No matter—no one would recognize me. I put on the Dothraki clothes and left.
I went to a merchant and bought a strong horse, then exited the market and headed to the city gate. I was stunned by the sight of the stone horses. How had the Dothraki built such a thing? Then I took off at full speed for hours, surrounded by mountains. I camped in a hidden place. Ate from my supplies, fed and watered the horse, rested for a few hours, then continued the journey.
During a break, I read some books in the system and discovered that Qohor isn't just the home of Valyrian steel—it also practices magic, and there are priests with long beards—no idea why, maybe a religious thing.
After several mountains, I began to see the Dothraki Sea. I spurred my horse and rode fast. A system message appeared:
[Horse Riding: 10/7]
I continued along the edge of the Dothraki Sea, and after a few hours, I stopped by the ruins of an ancient city. I camped and slept.
The next morning, I woke to a strange sight. People surrounded me from every direction, holding swords and spears, and some with bows. I looked at them—no one spoke. I tried speaking in my normal language. No response. I tried broken Valyrian. A tall man, who looked Dothraki, responded. His sword was still sheathed, but he stared at me suspiciously.
He said in broken Valyrian, "You travel alone… no riders, no guards, no golden tent? Who sleeps among stones?"
I replied in the same language, "I am enough on my own."
Another man laughed—a bit shorter, with one eye and a bone bracelet on his arm—and said in Dothraki translated to Valyrian, "He's right. His flesh is enough… his sword, dagger, even his ring would sell in Qohor for two horses."
I looked at them and said in Dothraki, "Why don't you join me? Looks like you fled Vaes Dothrak after committing a crime."
The tall man stared at me. The one-eyed man went silent. I thought to myself—why are they staring like that?
I said, "I know places full of treasure, waiting to be taken. If you kill me, you'll gain nothing. Why not follow me and serve? I don't know why I said that, but I wasn't scared anymore—not after gaining the Return skill."
The tall man stayed silent, still staring at me like he was trying to remember something. The second man spat on the ground and said, "Your accent's broken… like you were born among us, but raised far away. Who are you? What khalasar did you come from?"
I answered, "My tribe was wiped out."
The men murmured among themselves, exchanging glances. No one knew every Dothraki tribe. A bearded man mumbled, "Maybe from the small khalasar of Sarco, burned in the East… or one who survived the Blackwater clash."
The tall man finally said, "We don't need outsiders… but you didn't flinch before our blades. That's rare."
I said, "I was born to terrify, not to be terrified."
The tension settled. Some lowered their weapons. Others still watched me with suspicion. The one-eyed man said slowly, "If you lie… we'll tear you apart and feed your flesh to the desert. But if you speak true… perhaps a new khal is born from forgotten ashes."
Then he pointed at me. "Walk with us, Son of Ash."
I walked with them, thinking—did they really believe me? Who were these people? Do they even have brains? And what is this 'Son of Ash'? Damn, I liked that name. Did they see me as a leader? Or were they lured by my promise of gold and plunder?
When we reached their camp, I found scattered tents, a burning fire, and the Dothraki sitting around it, eating meat and laughing harshly—more beasts than men.
The tall man gestured for me to sit. I did, observing them. They weren't many, but not few—around two hundred.
The one-eyed man approached me and handed me a chunk of meat. "Eat, Son of Ash. Food before blood."
I thought—why is this guy staring at me like he birthed me? And what does he mean, food before blood? Does he really want me to lead them? Invade cities?
I took the chunk. It was hard as a rock. Many eyes were on me, waiting for something. Without hesitation, I threw the first bite into my mouth and whispered, "Inventory." The piece appeared in my inventory, and I kept chewing as if I'd finished it. I said, "Bring more."
They looked impressed and gave me more. I ate like someone raised among them. I showed no hesitation, though inside I wondered—do they wipe their asses? Do they cook with that same hand? Damn them.
A gray-bearded man approached, holding a dark wine bottle, a snake tattoo coiling around his arm. He reminded me of Tormund the wildling. He said:
"If you are who you claim… you will not fear the fire's vision."
He tossed a handful of strange powder into the fire. I wondered—is this fire magic? I looked at the flame—it turned blue, then green, then began to dance.
He said, "Anyone who seeks to be followed must be seen in the fire. Show us your true face."
I looked at him and cursed in my head—yesterday I got killed by a random man, and now this old fool wants me to burn my face? I liked him. Now? Damn you, old man.
I looked at the fire… then stepped forward. I approached until I nearly touched it.
I thought—even if I die, I'll come back. And this is a chance. This old man knows magic. Maybe I can learn from him.
Then I whispered in High Valyrian—words I learned from books, maybe from Aerys when he burned people:
"Valon domos… vos magher… Rhaego ahor… Vaes iseryan." (All roads burn… except the road of fire.)
Everyone went silent. The fire leaned toward me.
For a moment, I wanted to kill the old man and stab myself to respawn. But I saw my face in the fire. It wasn't the one I knew… it bore a crown… blood… and a dragon soaring overhead. I wanted to hug the old man, but feared ruining the image I was building.
I stepped back, the fire still swaying toward me like it wanted to devour me. I cursed myself and the old man a dozen times, then looked into the flame.
I saw faces—men and women—some looked at me like they were waiting for something. Like they knew me.
I thought—are these the ones my group and I will slaughter one day?
Their eyes held awe… or hope? I don't know. Maybe they're just constipated.
The old man said, as if speaking to the fire, "He sees them… fire does not lie."
Then he turned to me, eyes sharp, reading me. "Now… burn a little, just a little. Let's see if you're made of flesh… or king's flame."
I thought—of course I'll burn, you drunk fool.
He placed his hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me. It wasn't a strong shove, but the fire was waiting. I cursed him, and the fire licked me.
A slight sting. Then pain.
I screamed… or cursed… I don't know, but the sound from my mouth came out as flame. I saw the coals dance, then the world exploded in fire.
Then… silence.
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the ground, people around me in silence. I wasn't burned. I looked at the old man—he was smiling faintly, as if near death.
But I felt a strange power flowing inside me. I looked at my hand and whispered:
[Skill Acquired: Primal Fire Magic]
Then said, "Of course I stole it, you bastard."
The old man laughed and said, "The journey has begun."