The chill northern wind swept through the barren cliffs, howling as it rolled over the jagged landscape of Skagos. The sea below crashed relentlessly against the rocks, sending salt spray high into the air, but none of it could touch Hadrian. He stood on a high ridge, overlooking the stretch of land that led down to the shoreline. Below him, a small, natural harbor curved inward, the sea forming a protective crescent that cradled the land. This, he decided, would be the heart of his new empire.
It had taken months of planning, months of careful consideration, but now it was time. Skagos was his, the last of the resistance crushed beneath his power. He had earned the respect of the Skagosi people—if not through his title, then through the raw display of magic they had witnessed. And now, he would reshape their future, starting with the construction of something that had never before existed on this wild and isolated island: a city.
But it would not simply be any city. Hadrian envisioned something far grander, something that would stand for millennia. It would be a place of learning, healing, trade, and culture. The brutal nature of Skagos had left its people hardened and cut off from the advancements of the wider world. Hadrian would change that. He would give them a glimpse of what they could become under his guidance.
With a deep breath, he raised his staff and closed his eyes, letting his magic flow through him and into the earth. The ground trembled beneath his feet, not violently, but with purpose, as if it too understood the magnitude of what was about to happen.
The first task was to raise the port. Skagos was an island, after all, and while it had its own isolated customs and culture, Hadrian knew that true power required trade. The rest of the world needed to be connected to this island—at his discretion, of course. Ships would come and go from the shores of Skagos, bringing knowledge, goods, and wealth. But for now, there were no ships. And there was no port.
Hadrian focused his magic on the shoreline, where the natural harbor lay waiting. With a flick of his staff, he began to shape the stone and earth, bending them to his will. Massive slabs of black rock rose from the sea, forming a long, curved pier that extended into the water. It was sturdy, built from the very bones of the island itself, and it could withstand even the fiercest northern storms.
At the end of the pier, Hadrian shaped the stone into a protective breakwater, creating a sheltered inlet where ships could anchor safely. He visualized the vessels that would one day arrive—trading ships from Essos, fishing boats from the northern villages, perhaps even warships from the mainland. This harbor would be the gateway to Skagos, a beacon of progress in a land where time had long stood still.
Satisfied with the pier and breakwater, he turned his attention inland. The city would rise behind the port, sprawling up the hills that led to the cliffs above. It would be compact but functional, built for a population that could grow over time. And so, with his magic thrumming through the earth, Hadrian began to raise the city.
The first buildings to rise were those with essential purposes—warehouses, storehouses, and workshops. Black stone emerged from the ground, rising smoothly and seamlessly into carefully designed structures. The warehouses would store the goods that came through the port, while the workshops would be places where Skagosi craftsmen could learn new trades, refining their skills beyond mere survival.
Further up the slope, Hadrian raised the foundation of a grand hall. This would serve as the center of the city's governance, a place where decisions could be made, where justice could be dispensed. The hall was built of the same black stone as the rest of the city, but its design was imposing—a fortress-like structure with high walls and a tower that overlooked the harbor. This would be the seat of Hadrian's authority, a reminder to all who came to Skagos that this was his domain.
But a city could not thrive on governance and trade alone. Hadrian envisioned something greater, a place where the people of Skagos could live and grow in ways they had never before imagined. And so, with a wave of his hand, he raised more buildings—buildings that would have a purpose once the people arrived.
The first of these was a school. Hadrian understood that education was key to transforming Skagos from a land of savages into a true society. The school was modest in size for now, but its design was intricate. It was built from pale stone, contrasting with the dark rock of the other structures, and its many windows allowed light to flood in. Inside, there were halls for learning, rooms filled with desks and shelves that would one day be stocked with books—though those were scarce on Skagos as of yet.
Hadrian knew that the first students would be few, and they would not come willingly. The Skagosi people had never valued formal education; their knowledge was passed down orally, from generation to generation. But he would change that. He would teach them to read, to write, to understand the histories of the world beyond their shores. And he would teach them magic—at least, the small glimpses of magic they could handle.
Next came the healing houses. Skagos had no real medical knowledge to speak of. The people relied on superstition and crude remedies to treat their ailments, and many died needlessly. Hadrian would give them something better. The healing houses were simple but efficient, with rooms designed for tending to the sick and injured. He had created special wards within these houses, using runes to promote healing and ward off infection. Even without a maester's knowledge of healing, his magic could make a difference.
He raised the public baths next. The Skagosi had little concept of hygiene, but Hadrian knew that cleanliness was essential to health. The baths were grand structures, with multiple chambers filled with steaming water, heated by underground channels of magic-infused rock. The baths were not only for cleanliness; they were places for relaxation, for the people to gather and converse. They were modeled after the great bathhouses he had seen in his travels across the world—a touch of sophistication that would eventually spread throughout Skagos.
Hadrian's vision was not limited to buildings of necessity. He wanted the city to be a place where the people could live comfortably, a place that inspired awe and reverence. And so, he created parks—wide stretches of green interspersed with trees and flowers. But these were not ordinary parks. In the center of each one stood a weirwood, its face carved with the ancient symbols of the Old Gods.
The weirwoods served two purposes. The first was practical—Skagos was a land that still held tightly to its old beliefs, and Hadrian knew that the people would want places to pray, places where they could feel the presence of the gods. The second was more symbolic. By placing the weirwoods in the heart of the city, Hadrian was reminding the people of their connection to the land, to the old ways, even as they moved toward something new. The trees' red leaves rustled softly in the wind, casting shadows over the green grass below.
Once the buildings were raised, Hadrian turned his attention to the city's infrastructure. The Skagosi had always lived in small, isolated settlements, and they had never had to deal with the complexities of a large, organized city. But Hadrian had seen the great cities of Westeros and Essos, and he knew that if his new city was to thrive, it would need more than just buildings.
The first issue was waste. Skagos was a cold, harsh place, and disease could spread quickly in such a climate if waste was not properly managed. Hadrian had no intention of letting his city fall into squalor. Using his magic, he created an elaborate system of underground channels, carved from the rock itself. These channels carried the city's waste far below the surface, into a vast cavern deep underground. There, Hadrian inscribed powerful runes into the stone—runes that would dissolve the waste, rendering it harmless.
It was a simple system, but an effective one. The people of Skagos would never have to worry about disease spreading through their city's streets. The channels were self-sustaining, powered by the magic that flowed through the island itself, and they would remain functional for as long as Hadrian willed it.
The next issue was water. Skagos had no great rivers, no sources of fresh water that could sustain a large population. But Hadrian had anticipated this. He had already created reservoirs beneath the city, filled with fresh, clean water that was drawn from deep beneath the island. Using a network of wells and fountains, he ensured that every part of the city would have access to this water. The fountains, in particular, were works of art—great stone structures adorned with carvings of sea creatures and wolves, their water flowing continuously in a never-ending cascade.
Finally, Hadrian stood back and surveyed the city he had created. It was still empty—no people lived here yet, no children played in the parks, no merchants filled the markets. But it was ready. The buildings stood tall and proud, their black stone gleaming in the pale northern sun. The port lay quiet, waiting for the first ships to dock. The healing houses, the baths, the school—they were all prepared for the day when the people of Skagos would finally come.