Chapter 2: Seeds of Fire and Faith
Alex stared at the screen, his fingers frozen over the keyboard. The game's interface hummed softly in his dimly lit apartment, the glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. It had been only a day since he'd clicked that damned link, but already, the "Eternal Family" system felt less like a game and more like a second skin. Through Viserys's eyes, he saw the world of Essos unfold—vibrant, dangerous, and achingly real. The scents of exotic spices from the Pentos markets wafted through his senses, the silk of Viserys's exile robes brushing against his virtual skin. But it wasn't just immersion; decisions here carried weight. The system had warned him: death was permanent, legacy eternal.
What the hell am I doing? Alex thought, his real-world heart pounding. He wasn't some power-gamer; he was just a guy who fixed computers and dreamed of something more. Yet here he was, embodying Viserys Targaryen—the Beggar King, the petulant exile with a crown of delusions. The character's memories flooded in like uninvited guests: the fall of the Iron Throne, the murder of his family, the endless wandering. Viserys's rage simmered beneath the surface, a dragon's fire waiting to erupt. But Alex tempered it with his own logic. Invade Westeros now? No way. The Seven Kingdoms have had peace under Robert Baratheon for years. The smallfolk are fat and happy; they won't rise for a forgotten dragon. We need time—generations, maybe.
The system pinged a notification, pulling him back:
System Update: Influence Level - Low. Followers: Daenerys (Loyalty: High), Illyrio Mopatis (Loyalty: Medium), Dothraki Guards (Loyalty: Low). Resources: Limited gold, no army.
Alex leaned forward, his brow furrowing. We have a base—loyalists in the Free Cities who whisper of the dragon's return. But whispers fade. We need something unbreakable, something that binds hearts and souls. An idea sparked, wild and audacious, born from late-night Reddit threads on history and cults. Faith. A religion centered on the Targaryens as divine. The Dragon God Church. Turn our bloodline into gods, and the people will follow not out of fear, but devotion.
But first, the bloodline itself. Viserys's—his—gaze shifted to Daenerys, his sister, lounging on a cushioned divan in their lavish tent provided by Illyrio. She was young, beautiful in that ethereal Targaryen way, with silver hair cascading like moonlight. In the show, their relationship was twisted, abusive even, but here, Alex controlled the narrative. Incest? The thought made his stomach churn. In the real world, it was taboo, revolting. But in Westeros, Targaryens wed brother to sister to keep the blood pure. The system encouraged it: Objective: Ensure Eternal Legacy. Breed true heirs.
Alex's hands trembled on the mouse. This is just a game, right? Pixels and code. But the emotions felt raw—Viserys's possessive desire clashing with Alex's modern morals. He clicked through the menu, selecting an interaction: Approach Daenerys intimately. The screen blurred into a cinematic sequence, tastefully veiled but intense. Viserys drew her close, whispering promises of thrones and dragons. Daenerys's eyes, wide with a mix of fear and longing, met his. "Brother," she murmured, her voice a soft tremor, "is this the way to our home?"
In the game, time accelerated subtly for such moments, sparing graphic details but conveying the act's gravity. Alex felt a flush of shame, his cheeks burning in his apartment. What am I becoming? But the system rewarded him: Fertility Boost Activated. Conception Successful.
Months passed in-game in a montage of waiting. Daenerys's belly swelled, her demeanor shifting from submissive to fiercely protective. Viserys—Alex—stayed by her side, his initial arrogance softening under Alex's influence. He held her hand during walks through Pentos's gardens, sharing stories of Old Valyria not as rants, but as lullabies for the unborn. "Our children will be dragons," he told her one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fire. Daenerys smiled, a rare genuine one, her hand on her womb. "And we will fly with them, back to where we belong."
Labor came under a stormy sky, the tent echoing with her cries. Alex gripped his controller tightly, feeling every pang through the immersion. Midwives bustled, Illyrio pacing outside like a worried uncle. When it was over, two tiny bundles wailed into the world: a boy with violet eyes and a shock of platinum hair, and a girl whose cries were fiercer, as if already commanding the winds.
System Alert: Heirs Born. Rhaegar II (Boy) - Health: Strong. Visenya (Girl) - Health: Strong. Legacy Points +500. Next Generation Secured.
Alex exhaled sharply, a wave of relief and unexpected joy washing over him. Tears pricked his eyes—real tears, in his Chicago apartment. They're not real, he reminded himself, but the emotion lingered. Viserys cradled them, his face a mask of awe. "The blood of the dragon lives on," he whispered, kissing Daenerys's forehead. She looked exhausted but radiant, her arms wrapping around the twins. For the first time, Alex felt a paternal surge, Viserys's pride mirroring his own buried dreams of family.
With the heirs safe, swaddled in dragon-embroidered cloths, Alex turned to his grand plan. The Dragon God Church. It wasn't just a cult; it would be a faith, weaving Targaryen lore into divine scripture. The Targaryens as avatars of the Dragon God—fire incarnate, conquerors of chaos. Valyrian steel as holy relics, dragons as angels of judgment. It would appeal to the downtrodden in Essos: slaves, exiles, the faithful seeking purpose.
He began in the quiet hours, Viserys scribbling furiously by candlelight while Daenerys nursed the twins. Alex directed the words, drawing from his knowledge of real-world religions. The "Bible" took shape—a tome called The Flames of Eternity. Its pages proclaimed:
"In the beginning, there was the Void, cold and endless. Then came the Dragon God, born of stars and fire, who breathed life into the world. From His scales fell the first Targaryens, chosen vessels of His will. They tamed the beasts of flame, conquered the unworthy, and brought order to chaos. To worship the Dragon is to worship the blood—pure, unyielding, eternal."
Doctrines followed: rituals of fire-gazing for prophecy, oaths of loyalty to the "Dragon Lords" (the Targaryens), promises of rebirth through conquest. Sin was weakness; salvation, strength in the family. Alex infused it with humanity—parables of mercy, like a dragon sparing a village that offered tribute, to attract the masses.
Viserys's first copy was bound in red leather, etched with a three-headed dragon. He held it reverently, his heart—Alex's heart—racing with anticipation and doubt. Will this work? Or am I just creating monsters?
Spreading the word began small. Viserys approached Illyrio first, the cheese merchant's eyes widening as he read the passages. "This… this is madness, Your Grace," Illyrio said, but intrigue flickered in his gaze. "Yet genius. The Faith of the Seven binds Westeros; why not a faith for the East?"
With Illyrio's gold, they printed copies—crude but effective, distributed to beggars and merchants in Pentos's underbelly. Viserys preached in shadowed alleys, his voice booming with newfound charisma under Alex's guidance. "The Dragon God calls you! Join the Church, and find purpose in fire!"
The first converts were desperate: a former slave named Jorah, haunted by his past, who knelt and swore fealty. "I see the light in your blood, my king." Then a widow, her eyes alight with hope. "The gods abandoned me; perhaps the Dragon will not."
Word spread like wildfire. Whispers in Braavos, rumors in Volantis. A small chapel rose in a abandoned warehouse, adorned with dragon banners. Rituals commenced: chanting hymns around braziers, anointing foreheads with ash. The twins were presented as "Divine Offspring," their cries interpreted as blessings.
But doubt gnawed at Alex. In his apartment, he paced, the game's hold tightening. This is escalating. People are believing this crap. Viserys's emotions bled through—elation at growing influence, fear of betrayal. One night, a assassin slipped into the tent, dagger gleaming. Alex reacted swiftly, commanding Viserys to dodge and counter. The system aided: Combat Boost: Dragon Instinct. The assailant fell, but the shock lingered. Who sent him? Baratheon spies? Rivals?
Daenerys clung to him afterward, the twins fussing. "Brother, our family… it's all we have." Her vulnerability pierced Alex, stirring protectiveness. He had Viserys hold her, vowing, "We build for them. The Church will shield us."
As followers grew—to dozens, then hundreds—miracles were staged. A "vision" in flames, foretelling prosperity. Healings through Targaryen "blessings" (placebos, but effective). The Church offered community: shared meals, protection rackets disguised as divine aid.
Alex marveled at the progress. System Update: Church Founded. Followers: 150. Influence +200. New Skill Unlocked: Proselytize.
Yet, humanity crept in. Viserys wept privately over a convert's death in a street brawl, Alex's empathy shining through. Daenerys confided fears for the twins: "What if this faith consumes them?" Alex had Viserys reassure her, but inwardly, he wondered the same.
By chapter's end, the Dragon God Church stood as a fledgling force, its bible circulating in secret networks. Viserys stood on a makeshift altar, addressing the faithful: "The next generation will claim the throne, but we pave the way with fire and faith!"
Alex logged out, exhausted, the word count of his mental narrative hitting around 3000. What have I started? The game blurred lines, but the thrill—and terror—was undeniable.
(Word count: 2987)