[Demon Fort of Draceryos, Solar, 187 A.D. / 85 A.C.]
The air in the solar felt thick, heavy with anticipation, as if the very stones of the fortress leaned in to listen. My gaze, steady and unblinking, swept across the assembled lords and mages, each seated in their place, each bearing the marks of Valyrian nobility, silver or pale gold hair, violet eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. The carved map of Essos lay before us, an ancient marvel of dragonbone, obsidian, and dark wood, its surface smooth and gleaming, the details etched by hands long dead.
My fingers rested lightly on the map's surface. The contours of rivers, the jagged lines of mountains, the etched outlines of cities and coasts, all whispered to me. The world was vast, but it was ours to claim.
Vaelys Belaerys leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed in appraisal. A slow, feral grin spread across his face, as sharp and cold as a sword's edge. His gaze lingered on me, silent approval tempered with a note of warning.
"You speak of foundations, my prince," he said, voice low and deliberate. "But what of the West? What of the Iron Throne and its dragons? They will not sit idle if we move against the Stepstones."
I met his gaze, my eyes steady, their hue a burning violet rimmed with faint gold. "We are not blind, uncle. The Westerosi, especially the Dornish and the Seven Kingdoms under the Targaryens, will see our moves as a threat. The Stepstones hold no claim for anyone, nor for us... yet. But the seas must be cleared. The corsairs, the pirates, they choke the trade routes. Maerys," I turned my gaze to the head of House Kostagar, his face weathered by salt and sea, his hair a silver mane, a thin scar running across his cheek, "speak of what you have seen, Lord Kostagar."
Maerys inclined his head. His voice was a steady rumble, like waves breaking on stone. "The largest tribe of the Naathi came to me, my prince. Their leader... he is no simple island chieftain. His mind is sharp, his vision clear. He spoke of uniting the Naathi tribes under one banner, of seeking protection under our shadow. Word of Draceryos power reached them long before we sailed their shores. He wishes to rebuild the ancient Valyrian fort, to make Naath a center of trade, a jewel in the Summer Sea. They are tired of suffering, tired of the corsairs and slavers. He offers his loyalty... in exchange for a future."
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of that truth. Naath, so long isolated, its people gentle yet enduring, had suffered for centuries. The chance to reshape it, to restore the ruined Valyrian fort, its dragonstone foundations still standing proud, was an opportunity.
"We will rebuild it," I said, voice firm. "The Naathi leader understands his place in the world. We will offer protection, forge trade routes, and make Naath a haven. But we must move carefully. The Westerosi watch, and I will not risk a needless war, but I will also not cower from it. We are strong, but even we must not tempt a storm without reason. The time for the Stepstones will come, but only with careful justification. I will not risk the lives of my people, nor the need for desperate rituals, nor the price of blood to force the hands of fate. And we will not awaken the dragons of House Mataeryon... not until Tyrosh burns, as they have sworn so."
Rhaemon Tyvaros, his shoulders broad beneath a cloak of dark leather, nodded sharply. "The cavalry is restless, my prince. The roads are cleared, the men are drilled. We await your command."
Ghaelion Gelionar, Marshal of the Army, his face carved with age and experience, spoke with quiet gravity. "And the foot stands ready, my prince. The Dragongaurds, the Dragoons, the Dragon Scouts, the Dragon Hunters. We will hold the roads."
Laenor Embaryen, his hands calloused from the forge, his pale gold hair catching the firelight, spoke with measured confidence. "Our forges burn night and day, my prince. We have begun crafting the steel for Martivia's walls and gates, for Oros, for the future. We have refined techniques, stronger alloys, sharper edges. With your blessing, we will imbue the steel with runes, with the magic of the Blood Dragon."
I nodded, the fire in my chest rising, slow and steady. "You have my blessing, Laenor. Let the walls of Martivia stand as unyielding as the blood of Draceryos."
The Grand Master of the Blood Dragon Order, his face weathered and marked by ritual scars, leaned forward slightly. His voice was steady, his eyes dark and glinting. "The runes are stable, my prince. The wards hold. The hatcheries thrive. The volcano remains chained... as it was by Maelarr and Vaemor. We maintain the vigil."
The Grand Mistress of the Fire Dragon, robed in dark orange and goldish hues, the embodiment of flame given form, inclined her head, her gaze calm yet intense. "The flows remain steady, the channels feed the city. We refine the techniques, test the limits. It holds, my prince... but we must remain vigilant."
I met their gazes, feeling the weight of their dedication. My family's legacy was not mine alone. It was theirs as well, a living thing, a tapestry woven by blood and flame.
"We will move forward carefully," I said, my voice low, steady, the fire beneath tempered yet smoldering. "Naath will be a pearl in the Summer Sea. The Basilisk Isles... they will be cleansed. Gogossos will be scoured, its ruins stripped of rot, its bones reforged into strength. And Oros... Oros will rise again. A port city, a bastion, a shield against the west and the east. The roadways must be secured, the sea lanes patrolled. We will rebuild the legacy of Valyria, piece by piece, not as a reflection of the past, but as a foundation for the future."
The chamber was silent once more, but the tension had shifted, no longer heavy with doubt, but charged with purpose. My eyes swept across them all, lords and mages, warriors and blood. This was not the end. It was the beginning.
"Let none raise a hand against House Draceryos, nor our vassals, nor the legacy we forge. We are the fire that will not be quenched."
And in the quiet, I felt it again, that hum, that pulse, that steady, unyielding rhythm beneath my skin. The weight of my ancestors. The dreams of the future. The power of flame, steel, and will.
This was the world we would shape.
This was the legacy we would build.
And it had only just begun.