Storm Over Volantis
The city of Volantis stretched beneath a leaden sky, its towering black walls shimmering with the residue of a recent rain. The streets buzzed with tension, merchants haggling fiercely while spies and thieves melted into the shadows. Somewhere in the bustling city, the echoes of ancient magic lingered—whispers from a time before the Doom, before the dragons had faded.
Kaerys Velaryon moved swiftly through the crowded marketplace, cloaked in a mantle of deep indigo, her eyes sharp beneath her hood. Her steps were purposeful, weaving past merchants shouting their wares and beggars begging for scraps. She was on a mission—a covert meeting with one of the few who still trafficked in the old magics.
She found him near a stall stacked with exotic herbs, his hands stained with ink and dried blood. The mage, an old man named Vyris, looked up as she approached.
"You come for answers," Vyris rasped. "The blood of dragons flows in your veins. But the magic you seek is dangerous—tied to shadows darker than night."
Kaerys's gaze was steady. "I need to know how to bind Serenthis without losing myself."
Vyris nodded slowly. "The old Valyrian magic demands sacrifice. Not just of blood, but of will. Be wary of the arcane's hunger."
A Game of Thrones
Meanwhile, in the great hall of Cair Volakar, Neron convened a council of war. Around the table sat generals, shadowbinders, and diplomats—each representing one of the surviving families vying for power.
M'Koro, ever the strategist, pointed to a map dotted with sigils. "The Targaron forces are consolidating near the Shadow Isles. They seek to control the sea lanes and choke our supply lines."
A murmur ran through the room. The seas were lifeblood in these times—control meant trade, wealth, and ultimately, survival.
Kaerys leaned forward, voice sharp. "Then we strike first. A naval assault to cut their reinforcements."
Neron's eyes glittered with determination. "Prepare the fleets. We take the fight to them before they can solidify their hold."
The Whisperer's Warning
That night, Kaerys met Jaro the Whisperer in a secluded garden beneath a canopy of twisted black trees. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers and secrets.
"I have news," Jaro said, voice low. "The Targaron heir is seeking an ancient relic—the Heart of Valyria. It is said to grant control over dragons themselves."
Kaerys's eyes narrowed. "If he finds it, the balance shifts. We cannot allow that."
Jaro shook his head. "There are darker forces at play, Kaerys. The Merchant-Queen has her own plans—and they do not align with ours."
Kaerys clenched her fists. "Then we must be ready for war on all fronts."
The Awakening
High above, on the volcanic terraces, Serenthis's power grew. Her wings spread wide, catching the firelight from the molten rivers below. Her roar echoed through the mountains—a sound that shook the very earth.
Aelthara stood beside Neron, watching the dragon with awe and reverence.
"She is more than a beast," Aelthara said softly. "She is the future."
Neron nodded. "And with her, we will reclaim what was lost."
A Pact Sealed in Fire
Later, in the sacred chamber beneath Cair Volakar, Neron and Kaerys knelt before an ancient altar carved with runes glowing faintly in the torchlight.
"This is more than a battle," Kaerys whispered. "It is destiny."
Neron took her hand, the warmth of their resolve burning brighter than the flames around them. "Together, we will forge a new empire from the ashes of the old."
End of Chapter 22