Chapter 6
Time: 149 - 119 Years Before the Doom
POV: Vaella and Aelor Balearys
The docks of Pentos always hummed with noise, but this day, for Vaella Balearys, it was a distant drone. Her attention was fixed on the strange, pale man who had simply appeared, unchanged, after fifty years. Kaelen. The name itself tasted like a secret on her tongue.
She watched him walk away, his form as lithe and youthful as the day he had saved her from the cockatrice in Sothoryos. Her son, Aelor, was still sputtering beside her, utterly baffled.
"Mother, who was that peculiar man?" Aelor demanded, his voice sharp with confusion. "And what nonsense was he speaking of debts and descendants?"
Vaella sighed, her aged hand going to Aelor's arm. "He is... a story, my son. One you will carry, and one your own children must carry. He is the debt House Balearys owes."
Aelor scoffed. "A debt? We gave him passage to Valyria, access to our libraries, our smiths! We taught him. That debt was paid in full."
Vaella shook her head, her gaze distant, remembering the primal force Kaelen had commanded in the jungle. "No, Aelor. That was payment for my life. His price was knowledge, and we gave it. But he also demanded absolute silence about his... gifts. For fifty years, we have kept that secret, even as he defied time itself. That discretion, that knowledge we imparted to a being who does not age, creates a new kind of obligation. A unique bond." She looked at her son, her eyes serious. "He offers us a hidden resource, Aelor. A powerful one, if we ever need it. And in return, we continue our silence, and we pass his message down through the generations."
Aelor still looked skeptical, but the gravity in his mother's voice clearly unsettled him. "He means to imply he will live for centuries?"
"He does live for centuries, it seems," Vaella murmured, a tremor in her voice. "Remember him, Aelor. Remember his words. The Balearys will owe him, and he will remember." She turned, her attention now fully on the business of the docks, but her mind still replayed the encounter. A wonder, indeed. And a secret more valuable than any dragon.
POV: Kaelen (Elias Vance)
The familiar cacophony of the Pentoshi docks faded behind me. Vaella and her baffled son, Aelor, were now just figures shrinking in the distance. The arrangement was made. The "debt" was secured. House Balearys, for all their arrogance, were pragmatic enough to value a hidden, long-term asset. My cover was established. Now, the true adventure of learning could continue.
My journey to Yi Ti was a tapestry woven from years of travel. I rode with dusty trade caravans across vast plains, their merchants wary but respectful of my quiet demeanor and my unusual, un-aging face. I slept under starry skies in high mountain passes, the air thin and sharp, feeling the earth hum beneath me, a stark contrast to the humid press of Sothoryos. I learned to bargain in a dozen tongues, to read the subtle cues of different cultures, to identify local flora and fauna. My body, ever resilient due to my rapid regeneration, barely noticed the hardships of the road.
I didn't rush. Time was, literally, on my side. I was soaking up the world, building my internal database for the empire I would one day forge. I noted trade routes, military tactics, and the quiet ways people lived their lives.
Finally, after years, the landscape shifted. The air grew thinner, cleaner, hinting at vast, ancient civilizations. And then, the first glimpse: the towering, golden-roofed pagodas of Yi Ti, piercing the sky like gilded needles. This was a land steeped in antiquity, far older than Valyria, a place of emperors, philosophers, and legendary artisans.
My goal in Yi Ti was specific: to deepen my understanding of crafting. Valyria taught me steel. Now, I sought the masters of artisan smithing, especially those working with unique metals and techniques that mirrored the legendary blades of Earth's East. I had read about katanas, about their incredible sharpness and resilience, forged through precise layering and folding. I had a theory: if Valyrian steel was a form of advanced metallurgy, perhaps a similar level of artistry existed here, though expressed differently.
I immersed myself in the bustling cities of Yi Ti, presenting myself as a humble scholar seeking lost arts. My strange appearance often garnered curiosity, but here, in a land with tales of mythical beasts and ancient sorcerers, I was simply another eccentric from a distant land. They called me "The Pale Wanderer" or "The Quiet Seeker."
I found what I was looking for in a secluded, mountain village, nestled deep in the Jade Mountains. It was a place where smithing was less a trade and more a spiritual practice. Here, I met Master Hiroshi, a wizened old man with hands gnarled from decades of shaping metal. His forge was a place of quiet reverence, filled with the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel, the hiss of quenching water, and the subtle scent of charcoal. He wasn't working with dragons or arcane rituals; he was working with pure, disciplined skill.
"You have strange eyes, young one," Master Hiroshi said, his voice raspy as he watched me observe him shaping a blade. He rarely took apprentices, but something about my unwavering gaze, my endless patience, must have intrigued him. "And you watch with the hunger of a man who has lived many lives."
"I merely seek to understand true artistry, Master Hiroshi," I replied, bowing deeply. "Your control over the metal, the way it flows under your hammer... it is unlike anything I have seen. I wish to learn the art of the folding blade."
Hiroshi studied me, his eyes, dark and sharp, seeing more than most. "This art requires patience. Years. A lifetime."
"I have patience," I promised, a small, knowing smile touching my lips. "And time."
And so, for the next thirty years, I became Master Hiroshi's apprentice. I learned the intricate dance of heating and hammering, of folding the steel hundreds of times, drawing out impurities, creating layers of unimaginable strength and flexibility. I learned the precise temperatures, the exact angles, the subtle song of the metal as it cooled. It was a meditation, a science, and an art all in one. My regeneration allowed me to work in the scorching heat of the forge for endless hours, to never tire, to perfect every strike. I learned to make katanas – blades of unmatched balance and terrifying sharpness, perfectly suited for the quick, precise movements I had learned in Valyria.
I also learned from the broader YiTish culture. Their emphasis on discipline, on honor, on the long view of history. Their meticulous record-keeping, their complex hierarchies. I absorbed philosophies on sustainable agriculture and resource management, how their vast empire fed itself. These weren't just theoretical lessons; they were practical blueprints for the future.
By the time I left Yi Ti, Master Hiroshi was long gone, having passed peacefully in his sleep, convinced I was some blessed student who had found the secret to eternal youth. I was approaching my ninetieth year, though I still looked seventeen. I was now not only a master of Valyrian smithing and sword arts but also an unparalleled crafter of blades, capable of forging weapons of exceptional quality. I understood the nuances of materials like no other.
My long journey was drawing to a close. I had gathered knowledge from across the known world, from the fire of Valyria to the disciplined wisdom of the East. It was time to return to Sothoryos, to the deep, green heart of my origins.