{A/N: I will add an Auxiliary Chapter for the noble vassal families of Draceryos.
From now on, I will also always mention when I add an Auxiliary chapter, and try to remember to mention if I have modified any of the existing ones. I would suggest, every chaper to just recheck on them, in case I have forgotten to mention that I have changed anything.}
[Fort Draceryos, Solar, 187 A.D. / 85 A.C.]
The air in the solar seemed to tighten the moment I spoke, my voice a calm, measured command. Silence rippled across the chamber, the kind that settled like a shroud, heavy and expectant. My eyes, still burning faintly with the afterglow of fire and fury, swept across the gathered lords and mages.
Vaelys Belaerys, my uncle, the head of House Belaerys, leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the table's edge. His lips curled into a slow, predatory grin, the glint in his dark violet eyes sharp as the swords our ancestors once forged. There was no smile of joy, no warmth, only satisfaction, cold and fierce. The blood price for my mother's death had been paid, and his gaze made it clear he was pleased.
"You have avenged your mother, my Prince," Vaelys said, his voice deep and steady, laced with approval yet edged with something harder. "Blood for blood, as it should be. But tell me, what madness drives a man to walk alone into the House of the Undying?"
His words drew a subtle nod from my sister, Vaelora, seated at my right. Her gaze, fierce and focused, watched me as a hawk studies its prey. She said nothing at first, but her eyes spoke volumes, concern, tempered with admiration, a flicker of anger restrained by duty.
"It was reckless," Vaelys continued, voice low, deliberate. "Even for a Draceryos."
"Reckless, yes," Vaelora added softly, her voice quieter, but no less firm. "Yet here you stand."
"I stand," I replied, my voice steady, a cold edge beneath the words. "And they do not."
A hush fell over the chamber, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth and the distant sound of the sea wind against the stone walls. The mages shifted in their seats, glancing at one another, uneasy yet intrigued. They had felt it, the shift in me, the deepening of power, the dark current that now pulsed beneath my skin.
The Dark Mistress, seated quietly, her form draped in shadow, turned her head slightly. Though her veil obscured her face, I could feel her gaze, sharp and unyielding. When she spoke, her voice was low, as if woven from smoke and midnight, yet clear and commanding.
"The power you radiate… it is not as it was. It has grown, not merely in volume, but in intent. There is something darker, deeper. Chained, yes... but chained not to weaken, chained to direct. To dominate."
Her words cut through the room like a blade. The Grand Master of the Blood Dragon, seated near her, inclined his head slightly, his dark violet eyes narrowing. Even the Grand Mistress of the Fire Dragon, head of House Magyros, her deep red robes catching the flicker of the firelight, nodded once, slowly, as if acknowledging a truth reluctantly admitted.
I leaned forward, resting my hands on the table's polished surface. The cold wood beneath my palms seemed to pulse with a faint, silent rhythm, as if echoing the storm within me.
"I have been reforged," I said quietly, yet my voice carried, steady and sure. "I have studied, I have bled, I have seen the threads that bind this world. And I will weave them into something new."
My eyes, now faded to a deep, luminous violet, the signature of my bloodline, swept across them all. "I will not speak of details," I continued, my tone calm, commanding, "for plans unspoken are plans protected. But know this, what I build will not be a monument to the past, nor a mere echo of our ancestors' glory. It will be something greater. A foundation of flame, steel, and will."
Maerys Kostagar, head of House Kostagar, a man with the sea etched into his skin, his hair silver like sea foam, and a thin scar running down his cheek, spoke with a low, deep voice. "A fine vision, my Prince. The waves are ready for conquest, should you command it."
Vaelys' dark eyes glinted. "A question worthy of our blood."
Rhaemon Tyvaros, head of House Tyvaros, a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped platinum hair and a scar across his brow, nodded. "If the sea is ours, the land must follow. The cavalry stands ready, my Prince."
Ghaelion Gelionar, Marshal of the Army and head of House Gelionar, with silver-streaked hair bound in a tight knot, his face lined but strong, spoke in a low, firm tone. "And the army waits for your command. We are sharpened steel, my Prince, ready to strike."
Laenor Embaryen, the head of House Embaryen, his hair a lustrous pale gold, his hands marked with the soot and calluses of the forge, gave a measured nod. "The forges burn, my Prince. The steel sings. Whatever you envision, it can be forged."
I let the silence settle, each voice echoing in my mind. They were not just titles or banners, they were the bones of a future yet to be built. My gaze lingered on the map before us, the world spread across the table in exquisite detail. The Stepstones, a tangle of blood and stone. The pirate lords of the Basilisk Isles, their ambition unchecked. The Free Cities, fractured yet watching, always watching. The ruins of Velos on the Isle of Cedars, a whisper of what once was.
I traced the etched lines of the Valyrian Peninsula, the shattered lands still scarred by the Doom. My mind wandered, Oros, that ruined jewel, the city that once stood second only to Valyria itself. A port waiting to be reborn, a naval stronghold to anchor our dominion. The Sea of Sighs, now cleansed, the waters clear as glass. The mountain upon which Martivia rose, its runes glowing faintly beneath the surface, feeding the nests, strengthening the wards.
I looked up, my voice cutting through the quiet like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"This is not ambition for the sake of ambition," I said. "This is survival. This is reclamation. We will not sit behind these walls while the world forgets who we are. We will not let the memory of Valyria rot in the dust. We will rise, and we will take what is owed."
Vaelora's voice, steady and sharp, spoke into the quiet. "The Free Cities watch. They remember the Dragonguard's stand, the Unsullied slaughtered. They remember the price of resistance. But they also wait. They wait to see if we falter."
Maerys Kostagar's voice rumbled like the sea itself. "Then let them wait in fear, my Prince. Our ships are ready, our sailors hungry. The seas are ours."
Rhaemon Tyvaros spoke next, his voice measured, but edged. "And the plains will burn beneath our hooves. The cavalry waits for the order."
Laenor Embaryen's gaze met mine, calm and steady. "The forges await your vision. Tell us what you need, my Prince, and we will make it."
Ghaelion Gelionar's voice rumbled low, his calloused hands folding on the table. "The army has been tempered, my Prince. The drills continue. The Dragonguard sharpens its blades. The fires of war await only your command."
I looked at them all; lords, warriors, mages, each a pillar, each a blade. My hands rested on the map once more, my fingertips brushing over Oros, over Velos, over the unbroken lines of roads and rivers that marked the future.
"I will give you the details soon," I said. "For now, know this: We are not finished. Martivia will not stand alone. Oros will rise as our gate to the west and east, a port and a fortress. The Free Cities will not move unchecked. Velos will be rebuilt, a watchtower on the sea. The Basilisk Isles, Skull Island, Gogossos, they will be watched, and if needed, cleansed. The Sea of Sighs will become a cradle for our fleets."
My voice dropped, quiet, steady. "No one will raise a hand against House Draceryos again, nor against our vassals, nor the legacy we build."
Silence reigned once more, but it was not empty. It was full, heavy with the weight of what was to come.
I felt it then, deep within me, a cold flame, a hunger sharpened by loss, a will forged in fire and fury. My ancestors had been great, but I would surpass them.
I was Balthagar Draceryos.
And the world would know it.