The sunlight over the Narrow Sea was scorching and dazzling, turning the water into a shifting expanse of shattered gold.
Inside the cabin of the Shy Maid, however, a heavy tension hung in stark contrast to the brightness outside.
A sea chart lay spread across a rough wooden table. Jon Connington stood beside it, his finger resting on the spot marked Lys, his brow tightly furrowed.
His clean-shaven jaw was taut, and the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes looked deeper in the dim light.
"The reports are too confused, Aegon." His voice was low and steady, yet threaded with a doubt he could not shake.
In private, he still addressed the young man before him by this more intimate name.
"Something has certainly happened in Lys, but what exactly? Ten merchants bring ten different stories. A Tyroshi occupation, an attack by Volantis, divine punishment, a Valyrian Dragonlord risen from the dead... they grow more outlandish with every telling."
He raised his eyes and looked sharply at Young Griff, who sat across from him.
"We should halt our voyage, at least until more reliable news arrives. Sailing blindly into waters where the situation is unclear would be unwise."
The young man known as Young Griff listened intently, his short hair, carefully dyed indigo, stirring softly in the sea breeze.
The color concealed his natural hair and had become part of his identity in exile.
His face held a concentration beyond his years, but the light in his eyes often left Jon momentarily lost in memories.
"Lord Griffin, I understand your caution," Young Griff began, his voice clear, his tone measured and composed beyond his years. "But it is precisely because the reports are confused that we should arrive as soon as possible."
He turned toward Jon, meeting his