----------------
Essos
57 AC
----------------
The moment the man finished speaking, Caspian looked at Valka. His face showed surprise, and even a glimpse of fear of the unknown. Valka, for her part, only showed her eyes shining behind her mask, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster. A dragon, a damn dragon in Vaes Yeraan. "Go, I will arrive as soon as possible." Valka told him, placing her hand on his. "Use every possible protection." She said that last part in such a weak tone that even Tyanna, who until that moment had felt Valka was a dangerous and threatening woman, did not expect to see that side of the hooded woman who was the Khal's wife.
Caspian immediately stood up and looked at his Bloodriders and Kinvara. "Keep doing what is pending, nothing changes with this news." He told his Riders. As for Kinvara, she got ahead of him, and with her characteristic silky voice, she smiled at him, "R'hllor has great plans, fear not, His blessing and eternal fire cover you. That even surpasses fire made flesh."
He only frowned, but given the urgency with which he had to reach Vaes Yeraan, he did not want to say anything. Valka stood up with him, and the others also rose. Valka took the opportunity to turn her back, take off her mask, stand on her toes, and plant a chaste kiss on Caspian's lips. "Please take care."
Caspian nodded, then left the room, not before telling Tyanna they would talk another day. "Leave, when we need you, I will have you brought back," Valka told Tyanna after putting her mask back on and facing her.
The two witches guarding Tyanna guided her to the exit, leaving the group in the room behind.
Caspian, upon leaving, reached the mansion courtyard. There was only one way to get to Vaes Yeraan quickly, and that way was flying. So, taking a small running start, he launched himself from the ground and took flight.
The air soon surrounded him. The houses and mansions grew smaller, and the city's people began to resemble ants from the great height.
In the air, Caspian wasted no time. From his menu, he put on his new armor, an enchanted armor with several enchantments, from Thorns, Protection, Projectile Protection, Unbreaking, Mending, Quick Sneak, Fire Protection, and Blast Protection.
He knew the power a dragon could have, regardless of its age, and he didn't know the size of the one that had arrived at Vaes Yeraan, so it was better to be prepared than to be clumsy and die.
The flight between Qohor and Vaes Yeraan did not take long, and after only three hours without stopping, and with the use of speed potions, Caspian soon arrived at the city.
From the sky, he could see that the great gate was closed, and at a great height, he noticed the damage left in the line of trees of the small leafy oak forest near the city's smallest lake. The damage was a huge, extensive gash, and at the end of it, a large crater was at the bottom, as if a meteorite had fallen from the sky.
"Shit," Caspian said, noticing the dragon. It was enormous, the largest creature he had ever seen in his life; even a 747 would look insignificant next to the majesty he was seeing. The beast could well measure over a hundred meters long, and even one hundred and fifty meters in wingspan.
But that was not the reason Caspian cursed, but because he knew that dragon, or at least he thought he knew who it was, as there was only one dragon in these times with such characteristics.
Black as pitch, enormous, and sinister-looking.
Balerion the Black Dread.
----------------
Aerea Targaryen
54 - 57 AC
----------------
The world remembers me as the lost girl, the one who rode the Black Dread and disappeared into the mists of time, but it was after I claimed Balerion and he took me to the cradle of the modern world. Before, I was more than that.
Daughter of Aegon and Rhaena, blood of Old Valyria, and a life woven with threads of fire, exile, and secrets that burn the soul. Often, on cold nights when the wind howls and burns like a wounded dragon, my thoughts return to my mother. Rhaena Targaryen, the Queen in the West, as some called her, or the Black Widow, as others whispered. To me, she was simply my mother: a woman with sad violet eyes, who rocked me with stories of Valyria while the world rejected us.
I lived with her in exile, first in Lannisport and then in darker places, as if we were shadows fleeing the light of the Iron Throne. I remember the mornings when I woke up in cold beds, with the smell of salt and wet stone permeating the air. My mother was always there, her silver hair falling softly over her shoulders, weaving intrigues with her ladies-in-waiting. "We are Targaryen, Aerea," she would say, her voice soft but sharp as Valyrian steel. "Fire defines us, but it also consumes us." She told me about my father, Aegon the Uncrowned, dead before I could remember him, and about how Uncle Maegor had hunted us like beasts. We lived in constant fear: fear of Jaehaerys's spies, fear of rebellions, fear of being separated from our dragons.
But in those moments of intimacy, there was tenderness. Mother taught me to read Valyrian runes in dusty books that smelled of ancient smoke. She let me ride Dreamfyre, her dragon, with her, and I felt envy burn in my chest when I saw how the dragon responded to her commands with absolute loyalty. "One day you will have your own," she promised. However, her love was possessive, suffocating. She treated me like an extension of herself, not like a girl with her own dreams. "Don't trust anyone, daughter. Not even family." Her words were a cage, and I longed to fly free. Even more so when the arguments became frequent: I screamed for freedom, she responded with icy silence. Once, in a storm of rage, I told her I hated her for keeping me chained. Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not yield. She never did. "The world will devour you, my daughter, that is what the world does to women with power," she murmured. Now, years later, I wonder if she was right.
Happiness came like unexpected thunder when I claimed Balerion. It was on Dragonstone, that black, ominous island that looked like a petrified dragon emerging from the sea. We had been sent there by King Jaehaerys, supposedly to "protect us," but it was another exile in disguise. Dragonstone fascinated and terrified me in equal measure.
Its dark corridors, carved into volcanic obsidian, echoed with the voices of those who lived within its walls long before I could remember. I remember walking along the black sand beaches, picking up fragments of dragonglass that cut my fingers like reminders of our cursed heritage. Mother spent days in the tower, staring at the horizon, while I explored the caves where the dragons nested.
Thanks to those explorations, I felt the call on a night of the full moon. Balerion, the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror's dragon, lay in the depths of the mountain, his breath like a furnace warming the entire island. No one dared approach him since Maegor's death; he was an ancient beast, with scales like eternal night and eyes that burned like dying suns. But I, with my Targaryen blood, felt a tug on my soul.
That night I sneaked out of my room, I remember feeling my heart pounding like a war drum. The air in the caves was suffocating, charged with sulfur and foul odors, surely belonging to those who suffered under dragon fire before perishing.
But in the midst of it all, there he was, coiled like a giant serpent, his tail sweeping the ground with every breath, and a hot breath that made me sweat emanated from his nostrils.
"Balerion," I whispered, extending my hand. Balerion only responded by opening one eye, and at that moment, the world stopped. I felt his mind brush mine: ancient, furious, full of memories of Valyria before the Doom. He did not reject me. Instead, he lowered his head, allowing me to climb onto his back.
I wasn't thinking of anything at that moment, only that happiness flooded me like a wave of pure fire. It was absolute freedom, power incarnate. I screamed with joy as we took off, the wind whipping my silver hair. Dragonstone shrank below, a black speck on the infinite sea. "I'm free!" I howled at the sky. Mother had warned me about wild dragons, but at that moment, nothing mattered. Balerion was mine, and I was his. We flew over the waves, the world a blurry tapestry beneath us. That night, I slept curled up against his warm scales, dreaming of conquests that would eclipse Aegon's. How foolish I was.
The euphoria was short-lived. Balerion was not a tamed dragon; he was a relic of Valyria, and his instinct led him back home. He ignored my commands, flying farther and farther east, over the Narrow Sea, past Pentos and Myr like fleeting shadows. I tried to turn him, yelling orders in High Valyrian, but he roared and continued. Fear filtered into my heart when I saw the smoking horizon: Valyria, the cursed peninsula, where the gods had unleashed their wrath centuries ago. Where my ancestors had fled centuries ago. And now, I was there.
We landed amidst ruins that still burned. The air was poison, thick with smoke and sulfur that burned my lungs with every breath. Valyria was not destroyed; it was alive with a palpable malice.
Towers stood together like hands extended to the sky begging for mercy, covered in black vines that moved like snakes. The ground crunched beneath my feet, cracks of lava glowing like veins of fire. I saw horrors that no mortal should witness: deformed beasts, half-dragon, half-worm, crawling in the shadows. Ghosts of ancient Valyrians whispered on the wind, their voices a chorus of agony. "Dragon blood," they said. "You have come to die."
I explored with fearful reverence. I found sunken temples, with altars where blood magic was practiced. It was thanks to that, and touching what looked like an obelisk engraved with runes, that visions assaulted me: the Doom, volcanoes erupting, dragons falling like dead stars. I lived for weeks—or perhaps years, time was distorted there—feeding on bitter fruits and contaminated water.
Balerion hunted mutated creatures, bringing me meat that tasted of ash. But not everything was bad. During what felt like years, I stumbled upon many things: dragon eggs embedded in the walls like common rocks, priceless trinkets that, at the end of the day, were useless in that desolate valley.
But, above all, I found something that gave me a massive respite amidst that experience surrounded by death and smoke: I found tomes, ancient books that had not been touched by the curse, books that spoke of rites, spells, and pacts of blood and fire. With nothing else to do, I absorbed everything like a sponge: curses so dangerous that they melted the flesh of their victims from within, ways to stop death—although it was only a trick to avoid dying of old age, still allowing disease and wounds to be mortal.
But in the middle of it all, what really kept me afloat was finding a glass candle. It was tall, twisted, and sharp-edged, made of the same dragonglass I used to collect on the beaches of Dragonstone.
Thanks to the tomes, I learned to create them, to use them, to let them burn, but above all, to see with them. I cried myself to sleep when I could see my mother half a world away, flying on Dreamfyre looking for me. I observed the wonders of the world, places I had never known, places I might never know. But which still filled me with hope of getting out of this smoky hell.
And that day arrived. Balerion, after years of flying with me, and having learned from the same Valyrian books how to control their dragons, I was able to make him obey me without complaint, and I knew it was my chance to leave, to get as far away from that place as possible.
I prepared all morning. In a large chest, I stored the belongings I had collected over the years: six dragon eggs that could be resurrected with the necessary sacrifices, the books that had accompanied me all this time—my mother would surely love to see them—I carefully covered three glass candles, and finally, ancient relics, old coins made of gold, chains and accessories made of Valyrian steel, jewels, gems, as well as some daggers and knives of the same material.
I dressed in armor. I had never worn any before claiming Balerion a long time ago, but here, in this smoking hell, I managed to find Valyrian steel armor. By its shape, it was evident that it belonged to a woman, and although it was a bit big on me, it was what protected me most against the beasts and stonemen that inhabited these places.
The armor was not the only thing I found, but also a sword of the same metal. A huge two-handed sword had a wide, straight blade. The blade was even longer than my own arm, but it was thanks to the metal it was made of that it felt almost weightless every time I used it.
(image)
The sword did not fit in the chest, so I had to strap it to my back, since placing it on my hip would be uncomfortable for riding Balerion, as I had already learned.
When I had everything ready, I called Balerion using our bond. His shadow covered me when he reached me, and I had to control my body and plant my feet firmly on the ground to avoid falling when the earth gave way the moment he landed.
Anxious to leave this place, I lifted the heavy chest with some effort onto the dragon's back and secured it tightly to the enormous saddle on him. And being up there, I felt hope return.
But it was not to be; the curse reached us. In flight, as we were leaving the center of the ruins of Valyria, an enormous beast, much larger than Balerion but horrific-looking, with its skin corroded and burned, even missing a leg. And on its skin, parasites, like fire worms, moved aggressively in its flesh.
The beast collided with us, burying the claws of its remaining leg into Balerion's chest, and I could feel his agony through the bond we shared. I heard him roar with rage and pain, and soon cascades of pitch-black fire burst from Balerion's throat, making the beast detach from us and fall, while it caught fire.
But it was too late. I felt it—those things that that abomination had on its flesh filtered into my skin, burning from within. I didn't know much more than that. I only heard Balerion roar in pain, his wings tearing through the toxic winds, and blood pouring from the deep wound on his chest.
I don't know how long it lasted, but the agony gnawed at me. I survived by pure Targaryen willpower. I had learned forgotten secrets, how to summon flames with my blood, how to navigate the ruins without falling into lava traps. I saw cities submerged in eternal smoke, where shadows of petrified dragons lay like tombs. I had even been marked on my arm when I found the first dragon egg, black and hot, but which, upon touching it, burst into flames that scarred my limb.
Valyria changed me; it made me stronger, but it also poisoned me. I thought of Mother constantly: her warning, her suffocating love. "I wish you had been here," I murmured in the darkness. While we flew somewhere unknown, I was so absorbed in pain and suffering, an agony so great that everything I had learned only managed to relieve me a little, that I did not feel the passage of time.
"Home!" I pleaded amidst screams. I wanted to go home, to finally rest, but Balerion, weakened, didn't even hear my orders. Weakened, he flew erratically, not towards Westeros, but north, over Dothraki plains.
In moments of clarity, I only saw green plains below us, but I noticed Balerion flying lower and lower. We had not stopped since fleeing Valyria, and I knew he was very tired. Both of us were.
When I woke up again, I saw steep, high mountains approaching faster and faster, and beyond them, a city, before feeling the impact. Balerion could no longer take it. His wings lost strength, his enormous body plummeted from the sky that carried us.
And with a strong impact, we crashed heavily.
That was the last thing I remembered, before falling unconscious, and hopefully, waking up at home.