Dawn over the Smoking Sea was a surreal experience. The rising sun ignited the steam in vibrant hues of orange and red, while the sea itself shifted colors beneath us—deep blues, purples, and that unnerving green where gases escaped from below. I woke stiff and sore from sleeping on volcanic rock, but at least I'd slept.
"Another day in paradise," I groaned, stretching my cramped muscles.
"YOUR CAPACITY FOR COMPLAINT REMAINS IMPRESSIVE, ICHIGO KUROSAKI," the Cannibal commented, already alert and watching the horizon. "PARTICULARLY FOR ONE WHO SURVIVED A NIGHT IN THE SMOKING SEA UNSCATHED."
"I'll take that as a 'good morning' then." I pulled out the last of my purple fruits and ate it quickly. "How much farther to the western shore?"
"IF THE WINDS FAVOR US, WE MAY REACH IT BY NIGHTFALL." The Cannibal unfurled his enormous wings, preparing for departure. "THE WORST OF THE STORMS APPEAR TO HAVE PASSED."
I climbed onto his neck, settling between the familiar spinal ridges. My body was already adapting to riding dragonback; I found handholds and positioned my legs without conscious thought.
"What will we find there? On the western shore?" I asked as the Cannibal launched us into the air with that stomach-dropping acceleration.
"THE COAST OF ESSOS—THE EASTERN CONTINENT. A HARSH LAND OF HILLS AND PLAINS INHABITED BY NOMADIC HORSE-LORDS AND SCATTERED TRADING POSTS." The dragon gained altitude rapidly, setting a course westward. "NOT THE MOST WELCOMING RECEPTION, BUT PREFERABLE TO ANOTHER NIGHT ABOVE THE SEA."
The day's flight proved less eventful than the previous one. The storms had indeed moved on, though the air remained turbulent in places. I used the time to think about everything I'd learned so far and plan my next steps.
I needed to find someone knowledgeable about Valyrian magic—preferably someone who wouldn't immediately try to kill me, enslave me, or marry me to their daughter for political gain. From what the Cannibal had told me about Westeros, that might be a tall order.
"These Targaryens," I said after a long silence, "what are they like? Besides the whole marrying-their-siblings thing."
"CONQUERORS. RULERS. DRAGON-LORDS." The Cannibal's wings beat steadily. "THEY POSSESS VARYING DEGREES OF THE OLD ARROGANCE, THOUGH DILUTED BY GENERATIONS OF RULE OVER THE LESSER KINGDOMS."
"And they're the ones with the most knowledge about dimensional magic? About how I might get home?"
"THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES, ICHIGO KUROSAKI."
It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but I appreciated the honesty. "I've worked with worse odds before," I said, thinking of my invasion of Soul Society to rescue Rukia. That had seemed impossible too, at the start.
By midday, the character of the sea below began to change. The steam thinned, the unnatural colors faded, and occasionally we spotted what appeared to be normal marine life—schools of fish and even what might have been a pod of whales in the distance. We were leaving the Smoking Sea behind.
"THERE," the Cannibal said suddenly, indicating with a tilt of his massive head. "THE WESTERN SHORE."
I squinted against the sun's glare and made out a dark line on the horizon—land. After days of ruins and open water, the sight was more welcome than I'd expected.
"Is that a village?" I asked, noticing tiny structures clustered along a small bay as we drew closer.
"A FISHING SETTLEMENT," the Cannibal confirmed. "SMALL, ISOLATED. LIKELY INHABITED BY THOSE WHO PREFER DISTANCE FROM THE MORE CIVILIZED LANDS FURTHER WEST."
"Sounds perfect for a first contact," I said. "They probably won't immediately recognize you or me, which gives us time to figure out how we're going to approach the Targaryens without causing an incident."
"WISE THINKING FOR SUCH A YOUNG SOUL," the Cannibal remarked, and I couldn't tell if he was genuinely impressed or mocking me. Probably both.
"I've had some experience with difficult introductions," I replied drily, thinking of my early encounters with Soul Society. "Let's land a little distance away and approach cautiously. Last thing we need is to cause a panic."
The Cannibal banked southward, aiming for a rocky outcropping about a mile from the village. "I SHALL REMAIN HERE WHILE YOU MAKE YOUR INITIAL CONTACT," he decided as we descended. "MY PRESENCE TENDS TO... COMPLICATE DISCUSSIONS WITH MORTALS."
"You don't say," I muttered, imagining the villagers' reaction to a dragon the size of several houses suddenly appearing.
We landed on the outcropping, which provided a good vantage point of both the village and the surrounding countryside. From here, I could see that the settlement consisted of perhaps thirty small buildings, mostly simple wooden structures with thatched roofs. Fishing boats dotted the small harbor, and people moved about their daily business, unaware of our arrival.
"Remember our agreement," I said as I dismounted. "No eating people."
"YOUR CONCERN FOR THE SMALL FOLK IS TOUCHING." The Cannibal settled onto the rocks, folding his wings. "I SHALL HUNT OUT TO SEA WHEN HUNGER TAKES ME. THE LEVIATHANS THERE PROVIDE MORE SATISFYING FARE THAN THESE MEAGER OFFERINGS."
I wasn't entirely sure I trusted him, but I had little choice. "I'll be back before sunset," I said, adjusting Zangetsu on my back. "Try not to make any new enemies while I'm gone."
"THE SAME COUNSEL APPLIES TO YOU, ICHIGO KUROSAKI." The dragon's yellow eyes narrowed slightly. "THIS WORLD MAY SEEM PRIMITIVE COMPARED TO YOUR OWN, BUT DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE ITS DANGERS—OR ITS PEOPLE."
With that warning in mind, I made my way down from the outcropping and headed toward the village. I stuck to the rocky coastline, keeping a low profile. The less dramatic my entrance, the better chance I had of getting information without causing a scene.
As I approached the outskirts of the village, I got my first close look at the people of this world. They seemed essentially human—no obvious alien features or extra limbs, which was a relief. Their clothing was simple but practical: tunics, trousers, and boots for the men; long dresses for the women, all in muted colors of brown, gray, and blue. Children ran between the buildings, playing games that wouldn't have looked out of place in any village back home.
It was all so... normal. If not for the lack of modern technology and the occasional glimpse of what might have been weapons unlike any I'd seen before, I could have convinced myself I was just in some remote fishing village in my own world.
Then I noticed something that reminded me just how far from home I really was. Near the center of the village stood what appeared to be a small shrine or altar. Even from a distance, I could see that it featured a crude stone carving of a dragon.
Great. Dragon worshippers. That wouldn't complicate things at all.
I hesitated, considering my approach. My black shihakushō and Zangetsu strapped to my back would definitely mark me as a foreigner. There was no chance of blending in. Better to be direct but non-threatening.
I walked openly into the village, keeping my hands visible and my posture relaxed. It didn't take long for someone to notice me.
"Outsider!" called a voice in a language I somehow understood perfectly, despite never having heard it before. A middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face pointed at me, alerting others to my presence.
Soon I was surrounded by curious villagers, keeping a cautious distance but clearly interested in the stranger who had appeared in their midst. I noticed that several men held spears or fishing harpoons, not quite pointed at me but ready if needed.
"Hello," I said, relieved to find I could speak their language as well as understand it—something else to thank the dragon bond for, maybe. "I'm a traveler. I mean no harm."
An older man with a gray beard stepped forward, leaning on a staff carved with unfamiliar symbols. "Few travelers come to Razorcliff by land," he said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "The hills are harsh and bandit-plagued. Yet you bear no signs of such a journey."
Razorcliff. At least I had a name for the place now.
"I came by sea," I said, gesturing vaguely behind me. "My vessel was... destroyed in a storm. I managed to make it to shore south of here and have been walking the coast since."
Not entirely a lie, though not exactly the truth either. The old man didn't seem completely convinced, but he nodded slowly.
"The Smoking Sea claims many ships," he said. "That you survived at all marks you as either blessed or cursed." His eyes flickered to Zangetsu. "That is no common blade you carry."
"It's a family heirloom," I said, the lies coming more easily now. "I'm Ichigo. I'm trying to reach the mainland—Westeros. I was hoping someone here might help me arrange passage."
A murmur ran through the gathered villagers at the mention of Westeros. The old man's expression darkened slightly.
"Westeros is far, stranger. Why would one from the east seek the Sunset Kingdoms?"
I thought quickly. "I have family there," I said. "Distant kin in... King's Landing." That was the capital city the Cannibal had mentioned.
This seemed to satisfy the old man somewhat. "I am Torrys, elder of Razorcliff," he said finally. "You may stay the night. On the morrow, we can discuss how you might continue your journey."
"Thank you," I said, bowing slightly in the Japanese fashion before remembering I was in a completely different world. But Torrys seemed to take it as a sign of respect.
"Melo," he called to a younger man nearby, "show our guest to the common house. See that he has food and water."
The man named Melo nodded, gesturing for me to follow him. As we walked through the village, I felt many eyes on me. Some curious, some suspicious, some fearful. I couldn't blame them—strangers probably didn't show up often in such an isolated place.
The common house turned out to be a simple but clean building near the center of the village, with several pallets for sleeping and a large hearth. A few other travelers—traders by the look of their packs and wares—were already there, and they eyed me with the same curiosity as the villagers.
"Sit," Melo said, indicating a rough wooden bench. "I will bring food."
While he was gone, I took the opportunity to observe my surroundings more carefully. The traders spoke in low voices, occasionally glancing my way. Their clothing was more elaborate than the villagers', with embroidered designs and small metal ornaments. One man had skin much darker than the others, suggesting trade connections with far-off lands.
Melo returned with a wooden bowl of fish stew and a chunk of dark bread. "Eat," he said simply, setting it before me. "Elder Torrys will speak with you after you have rested."
The stew was surprisingly good—rich with unfamiliar spices and hearty chunks of white fish. As I ate, one of the traders approached, a middle-aged man with a short beard and a calculating expression.
"You come from the east?" he asked without preamble, sitting across from me.
I nodded, mouth full of stew.
"From beyond the Smoking Sea?" His eyes narrowed. "Few survive that crossing."
I swallowed before answering. "I was lucky."
"Indeed." He studied me for a moment. "I am Lazeo Maar, a spice trader from Myr. I travel to Pentos within the week. From there, ships sail regularly to King's Landing."
This was exactly the kind of information I needed. "How long would such a journey take?"
"To Pentos? Four days by horse along the coast road. Then perhaps another week by sea to King's Landing, if the winds are favorable." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "For a price, I could allow you to accompany my caravan to Pentos."
"What kind of price?" I asked cautiously, realizing I had nothing of value to offer except perhaps Zangetsu, which was absolutely not for sale.
Lazeo shrugged. "An extra hand for protection would be welcome. The hills have grown dangerous of late. Bandits prey on merchant caravans, and stranger things are said to come down from the mountains by night."
"You want me as a guard?" That I could do.
"You carry yourself like a warrior, stranger, and that blade is no farmer's tool." Lazeo gave me a shrewd look. "Defend my goods to Pentos, and I will see you safely there with food for your belly and coin enough for ship's passage to Westeros."
It was a fair offer, and better than I'd hoped for. I extended my hand in agreement. "You have a deal."
Lazeo clasped my forearm in what seemed to be the local custom for sealing an agreement. "We leave at dawn two days hence. Be ready."
After he returned to his companions, I finished my meal, my mind racing with this new development. A clear path to Westeros was taking shape. But first, I needed to consult with the Cannibal. Something told me he wouldn't be thrilled about a four-day land journey with a merchant caravan.
As the afternoon wore on, Elder Torrys finally summoned me to his dwelling—a slightly larger version of the other village homes, distinguished by elaborate carvings around the doorway. Inside, the single room was simply furnished with a central hearth, sleeping pallets, and various household items hanging from the walls.
Torrys sat cross-legged on a woven mat, gesturing for me to join him. A young woman—perhaps his daughter or granddaughter—silently poured a steaming liquid into two clay cups before withdrawing to the corner of the room.
"Drink," Torrys said, handing me one of the cups. "Seagrass tea. It eases the weariness of travel."
I sipped the tea cautiously. It tasted of salt and herbs, unusual but not unpleasant. "Thank you for your hospitality," I said.
Torrys studied me over the rim of his cup. "Your appearance is strange, Ichigo. Your hair, your clothing, that remarkable blade—unlike any I have seen in my long years."
I tensed slightly, unsure where this was heading.
"Yet," he continued, "the old signs do not lie. The dragon bone speaks true."
"Dragon bone?" I repeated, confused.
Torrys set down his cup. "This morning, before your arrival, I cast the dragon bones as is my custom at dawn. They spoke of a stranger from beyond the sea, bearing fire and steel unlike any known to our land." His eyes bore into mine. "They spoke of change coming on dragon wings."
I kept my expression neutral, though internally I was cursing. So much for my low-profile approach. "I'm just a traveler seeking passage to Westeros," I said carefully.
"Perhaps." Torrys reached into a small pouch at his waist and withdrew what looked like carved pieces of bone, yellowed with age. "Yet the bones are seldom wrong. They say you bring both salvation and destruction. That you walk with one foot in our world and one in the realm of spirits."
That hit uncomfortably close to home. As a substitute Soul Reaper, I did literally exist between the worlds of the living and the dead.
"What is it you truly seek, Ichigo-from-beyond-the-Smoking-Sea?" Torrys asked softly. "Why have the old powers stirred for your coming?"
I considered my options carefully. This old man knew something—or thought he did—about my nature. Lying completely seemed pointless, but the full truth was too complicated and potentially dangerous.
"I'm looking for knowledge," I said finally. "About how to return to my home, which is... very far from here. I believe the Targaryens may have texts or information that could help me."
Torrys nodded slowly, as if my answer confirmed something. "The dragon-lords of Westeros guard their secrets jealously. They will not welcome an outsider seeking their ancient knowledge."
"I'm aware of the risk," I replied. "But I have to try."
The old man seemed to come to a decision. He gathered the bone pieces in his hands, shaking them gently before casting them onto the mat between us. They fell in a pattern that meant nothing to me but clearly held significance for Torrys. His eyes widened.
"The path is clear," he said, his voice carrying a new note of reverence. "You must follow the fire to its source." He looked up at me. "I cannot tell you what you will find in Westeros, but I can tell you this: your coming was foretold in the oldest songs of our people. The stranger with hair of fire who rides the black dragon."
I froze. "What did you say?"
"Our ancestors fled the Doom of Valyria, settling here where few would follow. They brought with them the old worship—not of the Fourteen Flames or the gods of Valyria, but of the dragons themselves." Torrys gestured to the bone pieces. "They spoke of a time when a warrior not of this world would come, riding the greatest of the wild dragons, to restore what was broken."
This was getting worse by the minute. "I think there's been a misunderstanding—"
"I saw its shadow this morning," Torrys interrupted, his eyes intense. "The great black dragon that brought you here. It waits in the hills to the south."
What the f—so much for secrecy. I sighed, abandoning pretense. "He's called the Cannibal. And yes, he brought me here. But I'm not some prophesied savior or whatever you think I am. I'm just trying to find a way home."
Rather than being disappointed, Torrys smiled. "The greatest heroes seldom recognize their own destiny. The bones speak true, Ichigo-who-rides-the-black-dragon. Your path leads to Westeros, to the very heart of the dragon-lords' power."
He gathered the bone pieces reverently. "And the village of Razorcliff will be remembered as the first to welcome the Dragon's Chosen."
Fuck. In the span of a single conversation, I'd gone from anonymous traveler to the subject of some local prophecy. This was exactly the kind of attention I'd hoped to avoid.
"Please," I said, trying to sound reasonable, "I'd rather people didn't know about the dragon. I'm trying to keep a low profile."
Torrys chuckled. "A man who rides a dragon does not remain hidden for long, young warrior. But fear not—our village honors the old ways. We will help you on your journey, not hinder it."
He clapped his hands, and the young woman stepped forward. "Kira will take you to prepare a proper offering for your dragon. It is our way."
I wanted to protest further, but I could see it was useless. The old man had made up his mind about who and what I was, and nothing I said would change it. Besides, the Cannibal would probably appreciate a meal that didn't involve hunting it himself.
"Thank you," I said, deciding to make the best of the situation. "But after the offering, I need to speak with La—the merchant about traveling to Pentos."
Torrys waved a dismissive hand. "The trading caravan is no place for the Dragon's Chosen. We will provide a swifter way to reach your destination."
Somehow, I doubted that. But I followed Kira out of the elder's dwelling, wondering just how much more complicated this journey was going to get before I found my way home.
As the sun began to set over the western horizon, I couldn't help but feel that I'd just exchanged one set of problems for another. I'd survived Valyria and the Smoking Sea, only to find myself cast as some legendary hero in a village of dragon worshippers.
Zangetsu would have appreciated the irony, if I could still hear him properly.