The ancient words continued to flow from their lips, carried by a rhythm that did not belong to the present. The ritual circle, carved from obsidian and jade, burned with an inner light that seemed to spring from the bowels of the earth. The two dragon eggs, motionless in the center, vibrated with a silent pulse, as if beating in time with the seven hearts that surrounded them.
Vaemor felt the change first: a heat that did not burn, but penetrated to the marrow, pushing the blood through his veins like a river of liquid gold. Beside him, Aerys narrowed his eyes, and a new, deep, violet glow appeared in them, so intense it almost seemed like light itself.
One by one, their features began to transform. Skin, once marked by travel, smoothed until it became as smooth as porcelain. Hair lit up in shades of platinum gold that caught and reflected the light of the ritual. They were the same, and yet each one now seemed an older version… and more dangerous.
But the true weight came with the visions.
The ground beneath their feet disappeared, and the air ignited in a roar of flame. They were in Valyria, but not the dead city they knew, but a living jewel. Towering towers of black and red stone, bridges of liquid fire linking suspended palaces, and dragons—dozens, perhaps hundreds—crossing the sky in an eternal parade. The streets were filled with merchants, wizards, and warriors, and the air was thick with intoxicating power.
Then, a shadow moved above them. In the vision, from the top of a tower even taller than the others, a man in black-scaled armor gazed out over the horizon. He was not the guardian they had defeated… and yet his eyes were the same burning coals. Beside him, a woman with hair as white as moonlight murmured something in High Valyrian:
"The blood is the seal, the seal is the key."
The scene changed. They saw fire, smoke, and the collapse of the towers. Dragons falling, engulfed in flames. The earth itself splitting and swallowing entire neighborhoods. The woman in the vision reached out toward them, and Vaemor felt her touch his forehead.
"Your blood, mingled with ours, is the bond that still breathes in these stones. Without it, the towers will sleep forever. With it... they will awaken again."
The images dissolved in a swirl of light. The ritual circle was once again beneath their feet. The pulse of the eggs stopped, as if satisfied. The dragon-shaped mark on their skin lengthened, adding new lines and curves, more complete than ever, though still incomplete.
Vaemor breathed heavily. He still felt the echo of the heat in his veins.
"The guardian's blood… was ours," he said, barely above a whisper.
"Not only that," Zaryon added, his eyes still glowing like burning amethysts. "He was forged to watch… by those who built the towers. And now, his duty falls to us."
No one responded. Outside, the rain had stopped. The door to the fourth tower opened slowly, revealing a strange sky, tinged with a golden twilight. The path to the fifth tower awaited, but everyone knew that something more than distances were shortening: the past and present were beginning to intertwine, and somewhere at that intersection… doom awaited them.