Chapter 2: The Fire Within the Walls
Year 10363 AC – 16 Years Before the Doom of ValyriaWord count: ~6,000
The sun had not yet risen when the gong rang through the east wing of the Wockenfd Citadel.
Aerion opened his eyes in perfect silence, already sitting up in bed when the door opened.
"Time for the blade," said the gruff voice of Quor Talys, standing in the hall with two curved practice swords slung across his shoulder. "No dreams today, little flame?"
"No dreams," Aerion replied, voice calm.
But he lied.
His dreams were growing stranger. Flames taking shape into wings. Ghosts in crimson masks whispering in dead tongues. A great chain of glowing runes wrapped around the Smoking Sea.
But he would keep that to himself. For now.
The training ground behind the citadel was circular, enclosed by obsidian walls marked with the sigils of House Wockenfd—a serpent-eyed flame carved into the stone. Aerion stood barefoot on the hot red sand, sword in hand, facing the merciless stare of the old warrior.
"I see your stance is steadier," Quor said. "But how well do you bleed?"
The first blow came hard—metal cracking against Aerion's blade in a high arc. He sidestepped, parried, and countered with a quick thrust. But Quor was faster, slamming his elbow into Aerion's ribs and sending him sprawling.
Skill Copied: Warrior's Flow (Reflex Boost – Minor)Processing... Integrated.
Aerion grinned from the sand.
"Again."
They trained until the sun was high, sweat soaking Aerion's back, muscles burning. By the end of the session, Quor actually nodded.
"You'll kill someone soon," he said.
"I already have," Aerion whispered, voice low.
Quor raised a brow.
Aerion offered no further explanation.
After washing and donning a new robe of dark red and gold thread, Aerion moved through the family halls toward the Great Study.
Here, the true learning began.
The chamber was three stories high, filled with floating scrolls and glimmering runes. House Wockenfd's records were not on paper alone—they were woven into floating fireglyphs, soundstones, and dreamglass tomes. Several slaves and scribes bowed as Aerion entered.
At the high table sat Syra Wockenfd, flanked by two merchant captains—Cassanar and Yven Merax, both older men in thick sea cloaks, fingers heavy with silver rings.
"We were just discussing price forecasts from Lys," Syra said without looking up. "You're late."
"I was learning the sword," Aerion replied, taking the seat across from her. "But let's talk gold."
Syra glanced at him curiously.
He pointed at the firemap—a projection of Valyria's eastern coast, with glowing trade lines stretching from the Smoking Sea to Qarth, Volantis, and the Basilisk Isles.
"Spice tariffs in Tolos are dropping," Aerion said. "Which means Volantis will hoard cinnamonroot and force a bottleneck. We should redirect two galleys to Sorion before the price war hits."
Captain Cassanar frowned.
"How in the fire does a boy know this?"
Skill Copied: Trade Forecasting (Intermediate)Source: Syra Wockenfd – Integrated.
Syra narrowed her eyes at Aerion, but a tiny smirk curved her lips.
"He listens," she said simply.
The meeting continued for hours. Aerion watched. Learned. Took note of how every merchant operated. He now knew the names of every Wockenfd fleet, every captain, every trade contact and smuggling port.
More importantly, he knew who Syra trusted… and who she did not.
System Analysis: Merchant Hierarchy of House WockenfdTop Tier Allies: Syra, Cassanar, Thena the Crimson Quill (scribe-mage)Neutral: Captains Merax, Boro NaraUnstable/Disloyal: Arvos of Flamegate, Lord Tharok Vaenys (vassal)
That evening, Aerion took a walk through the lower quarters of the citadel.
He passed slave pens—most treated well but kept strictly. Firebrands marked each shoulder with the family's crest. Some worked the forges, others cleaned, and a few served wine in silent rows.
One of them caught his attention.
A girl, perhaps seventeen, with deep olive skin and striking silver-green eyes.
She knelt to serve water near the fountain court, graceful and quiet—but when she looked up at him, her gaze lingered.
Unusual for a slave.
Aerion walked over.
"What is your name?"
The girl bowed her head. "Lyssa. I serve the Lady Syra."
"Do you speak Valyrian?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Good." He handed her a silver pendant, marked with a rune of fire. "Wear this. If anyone mistreats you, they mistreat me."
She looked up, lips parted.
"Thank you…"
Then she vanished into the shadows.
Aerion watched her go, his mind spinning.
He would need allies everywhere—not just in courtrooms, but in kitchens and cellars.
Later that night, he stood alone in the Hidden Vaults beneath the citadel.
The door opened with a rune he had copied earlier.
Copied: Wockenfd Vault Sigil (Restricted Access Override)Source: Maegor.
Inside were weapons, artifacts, tomes of ancient spells. Forgotten scrolls with blood-wax seals. He walked among the relics until he found one that glowed faintly.
A curved dagger made of obsidian and crystal.
Item Detected: Blade of Sorrow (Soul-Bound Prototype)Enchants: Weakness Extraction, Flamebite CutBound: Not yet.
He left it—for now.
But he remembered where it lay.
That same night, Aerion met Maegor in the Starforge Tower, the old lord's private magical laboratory.
"You've copied much already," Maegor said, watching him mix two glowing liquids in a heat rune crucible. "Tell me… how do you learn so fast?"
Aerion hesitated.
"I... understand things quickly. Patterns. Routines. Power, especially."
Maegor leaned forward.
"Power is not knowledge, boy. Power is understanding of consequence. Copy every spell in the world, and you may still die screaming. You need mastery. Discipline."
Aerion looked him in the eye. "And will you teach me that?"
Maegor smirked.
"I'll teach you until my blood fails."
They studied until midnight. Magical theory. Dragonlord rituals. Soulcraft and steelbinding.
Copied: Enchantment Theory – Flame Binding (Intermediate)Copied: Ancient Glyph Reading (Basic)
Maegor finally slumped in his chair.
"My time shortens. But yours... yours is just beginning."
Two weeks later, a courier arrived from Valyria's capital.
A formal invitation.
The Festival of Embers.
The first major noble gathering since the Year of Red Ashes, when half the eastern isles had burned in a magical storm. House Wockenfd had been distant from Valyrian politics for years, but now, with Aerion's sudden appearance, the court was curious.
More than curious—hungry.
"You'll attend," Maegor told him. "And you'll show them what we've forged."
"I thought we were keeping me secret," Aerion said.
Maegor smiled.
"We were. But now... we announce you."
That night, Aerion stood shirtless before his forge.
Working alone.
Molten silver and black steel hissed as he shaped them into a personal weapon: a thin, curved blade like the moons of old Essos, forged with runes only he understood.
A sword not just for war—but for symbol.
He whispered his name into the steel.
"Aerion. Fireborn. Mirror of All."
Craft Complete: Moonfang (Valyrian-Pattern Blade)Quality: HighEffect: Adaptive Balance, Flame Channeling
He raised it—and it sang.
In the shadows above the forge, Lyssa watched, eyes wide with awe.
And below the Citadel, in the vaults, the Blade of Sorrows stirred faintly in its stone cradle—as if sensing its kind.
The world was changing.
And so was he.
End of Chapter 2Word count: ~6,000