Chapter 1
Time: 200 Years Before the Doom
POV: Kaelen (Elias Vance)
Darkness. Absolute, crushing darkness. Then, a searing flash of white, like staring into the heart of a supernova, but far more painful. My last conscious thought was the rhythmic hum of the quantum field generator in my lab, the subtle vibrations of a groundbreaking experiment nearing its peak. I was Dr. Elias Vance, theoretical physicist, a man whose life revolved around equations, algorithms, and the cold, elegant logic of the universe. My existence was defined by data, by verifiable facts. And then, there was nothing.
Suddenly, a cacophony of alien sounds assaulted me. The rustle of unseen leaves, the chirping of insects unlike any I'd ever heard, the distant roar of something impossibly large. My body was… different. It felt tiny, uncoordinated, and helpless. A primal, suffocating urge to cry built in my chest, and a strange, reedy wail escaped my lips. This was not my lab. This was not Earth. This was, impossibly, a jungle. And I was a baby.
The first few years were a blur of overwhelming sensations and frantic, internal data processing. My mind, thankfully, remained sharp, even if my motor skills were non-existent. I was a fully aware, highly intelligent adult trapped in the fragile, demanding body of an infant. Every new sight, sound, and touch was cataloged, analyzed. I observed the creatures that moved through the towering trees, the vibrant, alien flora, the damp, rich smell of the earth after a tropical downpour. And I observed the beings who cared for me.
They were elves, though not like anything out of Tolkien or classic fantasy. These were the Silvanar, the "Forest-Kin." Taller than humans, with skin the color of pale ivory, and eyes that held the deep green or sapphire blue of the Sothoryan jungle itself. Their ears were subtly pointed, their movements graceful, almost liquid. They communicated in a way that was both spoken language – a fluid series of clicks, whistles, and deep, resonant hums – and something more. An empathic connection, a shared feeling that bypassed words entirely. It was unnerving, yet efficient. My scientific mind labeled it a form of direct neural communication, likely based on complex bio-electrical signals. I learned it, slowly, painfully, feeling like a supercomputer running on dial-up.
I quickly understood I was different from them. They called me "Ael'athar," the "Deep-Born." They treated me with a reverence that made my skin prickle, a quiet awe reserved for something ancient and rare. I was the last of my kind, they seemed to believe. The last of a lineage they revered. This meant a unique physical appearance – my skin had an almost luminous quality, my eyes a startling, vibrant amethyst – and, most terrifyingly, new powers.
The first time it happened, I was perhaps four years old, a small, curious child reaching for a wilting flower. I merely wished it would live, and felt a strange tug, a current flow from my small hand. The flower perked up, its petals unfurling, its color deepening. Panic flared. This was impossible. This was magic. My rational mind, the very core of who Elias Vance was, rejected it. Yet, it happened again. A loose stone, an annoyance in my path, shifted with a thought. A vine I struggled to climb thickened and offered a perfect handhold.
I began to experiment in secret, away from the watchful, reverent eyes of the Silvanar. I found I could command plants to grow at impossible speeds, to twist into complex shapes, to form living barriers or bridges. I could move earth, raising walls, carving tunnels, shaping the very landscape with a mere thought. It was like having a direct interface with the planet's geological and biological systems. I mentally categorized it as "Advanced Bio-Manipulation" and "Geo-Kinetic Interface", trying desperately to fit it into a scientific framework, even as it defied every law of physics from my home dimension.
My body also possessed an extraordinary ability: rapid regeneration. A deep cut from a thorny vine would stitch itself together in minutes, leaving barely a scar. A bruise vanished within the hour. This was a gift, perhaps from the random omnipotent being who had dropped me here, ensuring the success of whatever cosmic experiment I was.
By the time I was a teenager, around seventeen years old, my mastery over these abilities was absolute. I could sculpt a mountain or grow a fortress of living wood with a thought. I could sense the deep networks of roots, the flow of underground rivers. And there was a growing awareness, a primal hum in my blood, to the creatures of Sothoryos. The animal bonding was instinctive. I could feel the presence of the massive, shaggy-haired Stone-Fist apes that roamed the deeper jungles, their immense power resonating with my own. I knew, with an unsettling certainty, that I could bond with them, command them, ride them.
My mind, still Elias Vance, was already working on a grand plan. From my Earthly knowledge, I knew of the Doom of Valyria, a cataclysm that would strike in about 200 years. A massive, dragon-riding empire would be wiped from the map. It was a terrifying thought, but also an opportunity. A vacuum. And here, in Sothoryos, a wild, untamed continent, was the perfect place to build something new, something better. A civilization that would learn from the mistakes of the past, guided by science, history, and my unique powers. An empire.
My chance to truly begin shaping this future came, unexpectedly, one sweltering Sothoryan afternoon.
I was exploring, as I often did, pushing the boundaries of my powers in a remote section of the jungle, miles from the Verdant Kin's main settlement. I was shaping a practice fortress, raising walls of stone, weaving layers of dense, thorned vines into impenetrable barriers. The focus required was immense, but the results were exhilarating.
Suddenly, a sound cut through the jungle's usual symphony of chirps and roars. It was metallic, sharp, and utterly out of place. The clang of steel, the frantic shouts of men, and a high-pitched, guttural shriek that chilled me to the bone. Not animal. Something worse. Something I instinctively knew was Valyrian.
I moved, faster than any human, through the dense undergrowth, using my plant control to clear paths instantly, my earth sense telling me of the vibrations of desperate flight and heavy pursuit. I burst into a small clearing to a scene of chaos.
A group of figures, clearly not native to Sothoryos, fought desperately against monstrous creatures. They wore strange, shimmering armor, and wielded long, gleaming swords that hummed with an odd, faint energy. Valyrians. They had to be. One of them, a woman, tall and regal even in her frantic struggle, with striking silver hair and eyes of deep violet, was fighting off a truly monstrous beast. It was a cockatrice, a winged horror with iridescent scales and a venomous bite, larger and more aggressive than any illustration I'd seen. It lunged, its beak snapping at her.
"Dracarys!" she screamed, a word I recognized from the books. But no dragon appeared. She was outmatched, her guards falling.
My historian's mind flashed. Valyrians. This was it. My chance. Not just to save someone, but to gain access. To learn. To influence. This wasn't some random encounter. This was a pivotal moment.
I didn't think. I acted.
With a silent command, the very ground beneath the cockatrice erupted. Two massive, perfectly smooth pillars of rock shot upward, slamming into the beast from both sides, crushing its wings against its body. The creature shrieked, a sound of agony and rage, as I continued to squeeze, the stone grinding against its bone. Simultaneously, thick, prehensile vines, stronger than steel cables, burst from the ground and wrapped around its struggling form, binding it tightly. The cockatrice thrashed, but my control was absolute. It was held fast, helpless, eyes rolling in terror.
The Valyrians, frozen mid-fight, stared at me. Their faces, usually arrogant and composed, were wide with shock. They looked at the bound monster, then at me – a pale, lithe Ael'athar, seemingly no older than seventeen, standing calmly in the jungle, his eyes glowing with inner focus.
The silver-haired woman, her chest heaving from the fight, slowly lowered her sword. Her violet eyes, though wary, held a spark of something new. "What... what manner of creature are you?" she breathed, her Valyrian High Tongue surprisingly clear.
I looked at the cockatrice, then back at her. My first interaction with the architects of the Doom, the future empire I intended to learn from, and surpass. My voice, in their tongue, was still a little raw, unpracticed. "I am Kaelen," I stated, deliberately omitting my Ael'athar status. "And this jungle... it listens to me." A simple explanation for them. For me, it was the first step on a very long road.
I had just saved one of the top Valyrian houses. And the doors of the Freehold, I hoped, were about to open for Elias Vance.