GOT: I Plunder Skills — Chapter 414 - The Strange Uses of the Dragon Egg

Winter's massive body cut through the grey sky of the North.

When the familiar outline of the wolf-grey castle appeared on the horizon again, a long-lost sense of solidity settled into Lynn's chest.

He was back.

The gale from the dragon's landing swept up a blizzard of snow and startled the whole of Winterfell.

Ned Stark was the first to come charging out of the main keep.

When he saw Lynn drop from the dragon's back unharmed, that perpetually taut face finally softened , just a fraction.

"You bastard." Ned walked up and gave him a solid punch. "Gone for half a month. I thought you'd fallen into the Sunset Sea and been fed to the krakens."

Reproach in his words. Genuine concern in his eyes.

Lynn smiled, said little, and turned his gaze toward the figures pouring out of the castle toward them.

Margaery, Sansa, Cersei, Myrcella — their faces a mix of relief and worry.

After brief pleasantries, Lynn shut himself in his room.

He had no time to enjoy the reunion. The massive dragon egg he'd brought back from beyond the sky was what demanded his attention.

The fire in the hearth burned hot.

The dragon egg, bigger than a pumpkin, sat on a carpet thick with fur, its shell smooth as polished glass. Nebula patterns had formed naturally across its surface, and in the firelight they shifted and pulsed with a strange, gorgeous depth.

Lynn could feel it. Deep inside the egg, something sleeping. A faint, slow pulse.

But no matter how much magic he poured in, the egg swallowed it all like a bottomless pit and gave nothing back.

"King's blood..."

He muttered it to himself.

He didn't think Joffrey counted as any kind of real king , but right now, it was the only angle worth trying.

"Bring Joffrey to me."

He told the guard outside and waited.

It didn't take long. A thoroughly unwilling Joffrey was "escorted" in by two large Northern guards.

"Lynn!" Joffrey was complaining before he'd fully crossed the threshold. "What do you want with me?"

He was all bluster, but his eyes betrayed him , flicking to the massive egg in the center of the room with a mixture of greed and fear.

Lynn ignored the noise. He picked up a small, sharp knife from the table and walked over.

"What do I want? Just a little of your blood."

"You wouldn't dare!" Joffrey stumbled back a step. "I'm the king!"

Lynn didn't bother responding. He reached out and caught Joffrey's wrist.

Whatever strength Joffrey had was nothing in his grip. An infant's.

AH!

A shriek like a stuck pig.

Lynn drew the knife across Joffrey's wrist , not deep, not shallow. Bright red blood welled up and dripped down, landing cleanly on the surface of the egg.

Joffrey was crying actual tears, cursing between sobs.

The egg didn't react at all.

King's blood. Useless.

Lynn frowned and let go of Joffrey's wrist with about as much ceremony as dropping a piece of garbage.

"Get out."

"You — you just wait!"

Clutching his wrist, Joffrey half-crawled, half-scrambled out of the room.

The experiment had failed.

Lynn sat down on the carpet and stared at the egg. The egg stared back, indifferent and silent.

Then the door cracked open.

A small head poked through.

Arya. Still holding Needle — she'd clearly just finished training.

"Lynn. I heard you were back."

Her eyes lit up when she spotted him, and she slipped inside like a cat. Her gaze went straight to the egg.

"Whoa... what is that? It's beautiful."

Unlike Joffrey, she wasn't afraid. She was curious, already moving toward it, reaching out a hand to touch it.

The moment Arya's fingertip nearly grazed the shell, Lynn's pupils snapped tight.

He felt it clearly , a faint thread of magic, pure and clean, leaking from inside the egg. It brushed against Arya's body and found something there. A resonance. Faint, but real.

The egg wasn't just an egg. It was a massive source of magic in its own right.

"Arya, come here." He waved her over.

She came without question.

"Hold out your hand again."

He took her small hand, slowly fed his own magic into her body, then guided her hand back to the egg's surface.

The reaction this time was immediate.

Lynn felt it , the egg acting like a signal amplifier, a transformer. The magic he'd pushed into Arya ran through the egg and came back to her in a form that was cleaner, more refined, more potent.

Something clicked into place in his mind. The outline of a plan.

"Arya." He looked at her. "Want to learn real magic?"

Something in his eyes made her pause , a light she couldn't quite read.

"Like you?" she said. "Ice and fire, that kind of thing?"

Her eyes went bright as two stars.

"Exactly."

Lynn sat her down cross-legged in front of the egg.

"Close your eyes. Feel what's inside you. Imagine a flame — burning right in the center of your palm."

His voice carried a quiet, guiding pull. He fed a careful stream of pure fire-element magic through the egg and into her body.

Arya closed her eyes and went still. Her small face was completely serious.

Her mental strength was still fragile. She couldn't steer the energy freely; it resisted her. Sweat broke across her forehead. Her face flushed red with the effort.

Then , a soft poof.

A tiny flame pushed through her palm. Barely the size of a bean. Trembling, almost gone before it started.

But it was fire.

"I did it!"

Arya's eyes flew open. She stared at her own hand like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The flame lasted less than three seconds.

Then it went out.

All the strength drained out of her at once. Her head swam, and she slumped sideways into Lynn's arms.

He caught her and ran a quick check. Mental exhaustion. She'd burned through everything she had.

He started to pull his magic back , and stopped.

The magic he'd pushed into her, the portion that had passed through the egg and been refined by it, came back to him effortlessly. Clean. Sharp. Several grades purer than what he'd originally put in.

Lynn sat very still for a moment.

Power bank.

The word just appeared in his head, fully formed.

That's exactly what this was.

Arya, or anyone who could resonate with this egg, could become a living repository. He could store his magic inside them. It would give them the ability to protect themselves. Let them cultivate magic of their own. And in a moment of crisis, he could draw it all back, with interest, and hit with force far beyond his normal limits.

He thought of Margaery. Of Sansa. Of Cersei. Daenerys. Even Robb and Ned.

If each of them became a mobile magic node...

He'd have an army of gods.

The full shape of it assembled in his mind quickly , vast, intricate, and elegant. Give them power, and they were no longer his greatest vulnerability. Borrow it back in the right moment, and he could fight at a level no single person could match. If he built enough of these connections, even the Red God or the Great Other standing in front of him wouldn't guarantee his defeat.

This was a perfect plan.

Lynn looked down at Arya, who had fallen completely asleep in his arms, and let himself smile.

---

Meanwhile, on the Narrow Sea.

Five black ironborn longships drove hard through the chop, heading for the mainland.

Theon Greyjoy stood at the prow, his kraken cloak cracking in the wind. Ambition burned in his eyes. He could already picture Winterfell in flames.

Yara leaned against the mast and cleaned her battle-axe with a flat, measured expression , but her eyes held something she wouldn't say out loud.

This plan was crazy. And it was built on assumptions.

Without warning, a dense white fog rose from the calm water ahead. Unnatural. Thick as curdled milk.

"What is that?!" The ironborn stirred.

"All hands!" Yara was on her feet instantly.

The fog moved faster than fog had any right to. Within seconds it had eaten all five ships whole. Visibility collapsed to less than three meters. The world went silent , nothing but the sound of hulls parting black water.

Theon's hand went to his sword.

Then a voice came out of the fog. Hoarse. Close , too close, like it was breathing at their ears.

"Children of House Greyjoy. Where are you sailing?"

Theon and Yara spun at the same moment.

Three figures stood at the stern of their flagship. No one had heard them come aboard. They wore ragged grey robes, hoods pulled low, bare feet planted on the gunwale as though the ship had grown around them.

"Who are you?!" Yara's voice was a blade. The ironborn behind her raised their weapons.

The lead figure let out a soft laugh. The sound was wrong , the kind of sound a ghost makes.

"We are... guides."

"We don't need guiding," Theon said, louder than he felt. "Clear off, or we'll take your heads and throw them to the fish."

"Take our heads?"

The second figure's voice was dry and flat.

"You can't."

All three of them raised their heads at once.

The hoods fell back.

There were no faces beneath them. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just smooth, unmarked skin where features should have been.

The ironborn screamed.

The lead Faceless Man spoke , no emotion in the tone, but the voice didn't come through the air. It arrived directly inside every mind on every ship.

"You have chosen the wrong master."

"Euron Crow's Eye is a thief. He stole the shadow power he wields. It isn't his."

"The man you're sailing to kill..."

All three turned toward the north. Through the fog, through the dark, through a thousand miles of sea and stone.

"He is the true protagonist of this age."

A pause.

"But this age has many protagonists." The lead figure's tone didn't change. "And protagonists can die."

He extended one withered hand, palm up.

A ball of ghostly blue flame bloomed in the air above it, cold and utterly still.

➤ Next: Presenting the Glass Candle