Chapter 192: The Silver Dragon Hidden on Dragonstone
House Crabb's Whispering Keep stood atop a sea cliff, buried beneath weeds and the passage of time.
The castle had been abandoned for nearly a thousand years. Rhaegar knew House Crabb still had distant descendants, but none remained here. Whispering Keep had long since become a cursed ruin—forgotten by both men and history.
The Crackclaw Point peninsula truly deserved its reputation as a harsh land of barren hills and marshes. Pine forests stretched endlessly over rugged terrain, while swamps and rocky coastlines made settlement difficult. Between the winding valleys and broken cliffs, there were few castles worth mentioning.
If Whispering Keep had survived intact, it might have been one of the finest strongholds on the peninsula.
Rhaegar Targaryen walked slowly along the ancient walls.
The triangular castle had collapsed in countless places. Trees and vines had swallowed its courtyards, while deep green shadows blanketed every corner.
When humanity departed, civilization departed with it.
Still, such things did not trouble Rhaegar.
The Silver Dragon lowered its long neck and breathed dragonfire across the overgrown weeds and tangled brush. Flames consumed the vegetation, clearing a broad area around the keep. Mud baked hard beneath dragonfire, becoming flat, dry ground.
Rhaegar stepped into the castle's inner ward.
Now the ground stood clean. Only rows of solemn cypress trees remained, along with a tiny weirwood growing stubbornly among them.
As he walked, Rhaegar remembered the stories surrounding House Crabb.
The deeds of Clarence Crabb sounded more like myths than history now.
Perhaps they truly belonged to the Age of Heroes.
The heroes of that age all felt like legends from fairy tales:
Brandon the Builder.
Garth Greenhand.
Floris the Fox.
Many noble houses claimed descent from those figures. House Stark claimed lineage from Brandon the Builder. Floris the Fox was said to be one of Garth Greenhand's daughters, and her descendants founded multiple noble houses. Even Lann the Clever had supposedly become the ancestor of House Lannister.
Rhaegar crossed the ruined courtyard while distant waves roared against the cliffs below.
Unlike other ancient houses, House Crabb had fallen into ruin.
Their legends remained.
Their power had not.
Ser Clarence himself was said to stand eight feet tall and ride a giant bull because no horse could bear his weight.
More strangely, he had supposedly married a forest witch.
Whenever Clarence slew a foe, he would bring the severed head home. His wife would kiss its lips and restore speech to it.
Lords.
Sorcerers.
Pirates.
Knights.
Even kings.
All became advisors to old Clarence.
Though possessing only heads, they whispered endlessly in the darkness because speaking was the only thing left for them to do.
Rhaegar's real concern, however, lay elsewhere.
Could some ancient remnant still remain within Whispering Keep?
After all, he had previously discovered House Royce's ring, the remnants of Rhoynar water magic, and other hidden inheritances.
Perhaps there was something here capable of opposing creatures like Squishers and Deep Ones.
The Drowned God.
Deep Ones.
Squishers.
In Rhaegar's mind, they all belonged to the same faction.
The Ironborn carried the Drowned God's blood in countless myths. In the future, perhaps Euron Greyjoy truly might summon some ancient horror from beneath the sea.
Rhaegar even considered a frightening possibility:
Could the Squisher King Clarence once fought have been the Drowned God itself?
The thought was absurd.
Yet after seeing Squishers with his own eyes, absurdity felt far less impossible.
As for severed heads speaking?
Rhaegar dismissed that entirely.
Even resurrection through the Lord of Light had limits.
A talking head was beyond reason.
"Could House Crabb's destruction have something to do with Squishers?" Rhaegar wondered.
If Clarence truly fought the Squisher King, then House Crabb and the Deep Ones likely shared a blood feud.
Squishers were dangerous enough already. Their strength exceeded ordinary men, and their savage nature made them deadly.
Rhaegar raised his hand.
Azure flames erupted from his palm.
Threads of blue fire swept through the castle like searching fingers. The flames illuminated walls, broken stones, and ancient foundations.
He was searching for traces of magic.
Time passed.
Then—
He heard whispers.
Not human whispers.
Magic.
Rhaegar's eyes lit up.
There really was something here.
Following the sensation, he reached the collapsed cliffside wall facing the sea.
There, half-buried beneath rubble, stood a black stone nearly half a man's height.
Unlike surrounding stones, no moss covered its surface.
Rhaegar brushed away dirt and dust.
Slowly, the mural beneath revealed itself.
Runes covered the edges of the stone.
At its center was an image carved into the rock:
A massive warrior riding a gigantic bull while wielding an uprooted pine tree as a weapon.
Opposing him stood a pale, muscular monster with sharp teeth and monstrous proportions.
The Squisher King.
The two figures glared at each other with expressions of pure fury.
Around the bull hung numerous severed heads.
Each possessed open eyes.
Each seemed ready to speak.
The warrior was undoubtedly Clarence Crabb.
And carved upon Clarence's forehead—
A hammer rune.
Rhaegar stared silently.
Then black light flickered across the mural.
Ancient runes awakened beneath dragonfire.
The hammer symbols glowed brighter and brighter.
[Explorer: Congratulations. You have discovered the mural remnant of House Crabb within Whispering Keep. Ancient runic traces remain active.]
[Rune Crown: Congratulations. You have discovered the Rune of the Hammer. Strength. Power. Overwhelming Force.]
Blue flames danced across Rhaegar's fingers.
Suddenly—
Black fire burst from the mural.
The flames gathered into the shape of a giant warhammer and rushed toward Rhaegar.
He raised his hand calmly.
Within the Crown of Fire, the Hammer Rune blazed brighter than ever.
Strength.
Absolute strength.
Rhaegar felt immense power surge through him.
Among all flames and inherited powers, this rune represented pure force.
Then another message appeared.
[Deep Ones' Mortal Enemy: Explorer, you have inherited Clarence Crabb's power. Your attacks deal greatly increased damage against Deep Ones and their kin.]
[Warning: You have also inherited their hatred.]
Rhaegar blinked.
"...A blessing with a curse attached?"
This was a first.
Apparently, Deep Ones were more than mere Squishers.
Still—
Let them come.
Of all the ancient beings in the world, Rhaegar found sea creatures the most disgusting.
Fish-smelling.
Slimy.
Foam-covered abominations crawling from dark waters.
At least now he had confirmation:
Deep Ones existed.
And the Drowned God might truly be their king.
Perhaps Euron Greyjoy's future transformation was no coincidence at all.
Perhaps the Crow's Eye would become something less than human.
Something from the depths.
Rhaegar quickly cleared away the rubble and stored the mural stone inside his Dragon King Ring.
After sweeping through Whispering Keep one final time with dragonfire, he found nothing else of value.
Ancient houses usually left behind crowns, armor, or weapons.
House Crabb had declined too far.
Only this mural remained.
"The favor of runes should be repaid," Rhaegar said softly.
"If House Crabb still has descendants, I can lend them aid."
Having made his decision, Rhaegar summoned his dragons.
The Silver Dragon descended from the sky.
Soon afterward, dragon wings beat against the wind once more.
Leaving behind Whispering Keep and the haunted cliffs of Crackclaw Point, Rhaegar flew toward Dragonstone.
For now—
The Silver Prince would remain hidden on Dragonstone and wait.
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