The feast’s noise faded as they slipped into a side passage. Torches guttered in iron sconces, their light barely touching the soot-stained walls. Aemma led with the confidence of someone who’d done this before.

  "Are you trying to get us lost?" Aegon asked as they took a sharp left.

  She grinned over her shoulder. "You’re scared?"

  "No. Just calculating how many people will yell at us if we’re caught."

  Aegon let his fingers trail along the walls as they walked, brushing against every vein of dragonglass they passed. The volcanic rock was everywhere in Dragonstone, embedded in the walls, forming jagged outcroppings along the corridors, even crushed into the mortar between stones.

  Aemma watched him curiously. "Why do you keep touching the walls?"

  "It's not just rock," Aegon said, pausing beside a particularly large shard of obsidian. "This is dragonglass. The Valyrians called it zīrtys perzys, frozen fire. They used it in their sorceries."

  Aemma tilted her head. "Sorceries?"

  "Spells. Blood magic. Things forgotten now." He traced the edge of the stone, careful not to cut himself. "Dragonstone was built with it. They say the first Targaryens who came here carved these halls with dragonflame and dragonglass tools."

  She frowned. "But the castle looks like dragons made it."

  "Because they did," Aegon said. "Not directly, but the architects shaped it in their image. The towers are spines, the gates are maws, the bridges are wings. Every stone here remembers Valyria."

  Aemma shivered. "It’s creepy."

  "It’s power."

  They turned a corner, the corridor narrowing further. The air grew damp, the torches sputtering in their sconces. Then, there. A jagged outcropping of dragonglass, larger than the others, its edges sharp as knives, embedded in the wall like a fossilized claw.

  Aegon’s breath caught. This is it.

  The Oath

  Aemma tilted her head. "Why’re you staring at a rock?"

  He didn’t answer. His pulse thundered in his ears as he pressed his palm flat against the obsidian. The stone was cold at first, then,

  Warm.

  Aegon closed his eyes and whispered the words he had practiced for weeks, in a low but firm voice that only he could hear, the oath in High Valyrian:

  "By blood and flame, I, Aegon Targaryen, pledge to bring back the glory of Old Valyria in this world."

  The moment the last syllable left his lips, the world stopped.

  The torchlight froze mid-flicker. Aemma’s breath halted in her throat. The distant echoes of the feast above ceased.

  Then,

  Vision.

  A city of black stone and gold, towers stretching into a smoke-choked sky.

  A thousand dragons circling above, their roars shaking the earth.

  Voices chanting in High Valyrian, words of fire and blood.

  A great temple, its doors carved with runes that pulsed like living things. A figure in crimson robes lifting a blade,

  SNAP.

  The vision shattered.

  [Prerequisite Fulfilled.]

  [Class: Heir of Old Valyria – Creation Successful.]

  Aemma gasped. "Your eyes—!"

  Aegon turned. Her face was pale, her small hands clutching her skirt.

  "What?" he asked, blinking.

  "They glowed." She pointed, her voice trembling. "Like…like embers!"

  Aegon forced a laugh. "Trick of the light."

  But the system’s notifications burned brighter than any flame in his mind.

  [Class : Heir of Old Valyria (Tier 2)]

  [Prerequisites :

  - Trait: Valyrian Bloodline (satisfied)

  - INT ≥ 9.0 (satisfied)

  - Age < 10 (satisfied)

  - Physical Contact with Dragon or Dragon remains older than 100 years old (satisfied)

  - Swear an oath in High Valyrian while in contact with a dragonglass relic older than 200 years, pledging to awaken the legacy of Old Valyria (satisfied) ]

  [Level 1 ( 000 / 1000 )]

  [ Trait: Valyrian Bloodline - Targaryen Lineage

  (+15% natural resistance to heat and fire)

  (+25% in kinship with Dragons)

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  (+5% chance of receiving prophetic visions during sleep) ]

  [ Trait: Blood and Flame Awakening

  ( +5% Instinctual Flamecraft: Can create small flickers of fire from blood, your own or another's, by concentrating and sacrificing a few drops. The flame obeys emotion rather than logic.)

  (+3% Obsidian Echo: Slight chance of receiving fragmented visions when near dragonglass) ]

  Aemma was still staring at him. "That wasn’t normal."

  Aegon wiped his palms on his tunic, feigning nonchalance. "Probably just the torch reflecting."

  She didn’t look convinced.

  Then,

  A distant dragon roar shook the corridor. Dust rained from the ceiling. Then came another, then another roar after that, as if all the dragons were warning or welcoming something.

  Aemma yelped. "What was that?"

  The tremors faded, but the air itself felt charged, thick with something old. Aegon flexed his fingers, half-expecting flames to leap from his skin. Not yet, but soon.

  "Come," Aegon said, stepping back. "Let’s return before they notice we’re gone."

  Aemma didn’t move. She still looked a little suspicious.

  He met her gaze.

  She swallowed but didn’t say anything.

  As they retraced their steps, Aegon’s mind raced. The vision, the power, the potential, this changed everything.

  Now the real game will begin.

  The sudden roar from a distance echoed in the hall. The hall immediately fell silent. Then, another roar shook the castle. Not just Vermithor’s deep bellow, but a chorus, Silverwing’s piercing cry, Meleys’ shriek, even the younger dragons joining in from the pits below. The sound rattled the goblets on the tables, making wine slosh over rims.

  The feast hall had just begun to settle back into its usual clamor after the sudden series of roar when the doors burst open. A dragonkeeper, his gray robes disheveled from running, hurried straight to the high table. The musicians faltered mid-song as the man bent to whisper urgently in King Jaehaerys' ear.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Jaehaerys stood slowly, his face unreadable. After a beat, he chuckled, a practiced, kingly sound. "It seems our dragons wish to congratulate the bride and groom as well!"

  Forced laughter rippled through the hall. Lords and ladies raised their cups in uneasy cheer, though their eyes kept darting toward the high windows where dragon shadows circled.

  The musicians struck up a livelier tune, and the feast resumed with doubled fervor, as if volume could drown out unease.

  Queen Alysanne leaned toward her husband, her smile never slipping even as her voice dropped to a hiss. "What actually happened?"

  Jaehaerys speared a piece of fruit with his knife. "The keepers say every dragon on the island woke at once. No provocation. Just... agitation."

  Alysanne’s fingers tightened around her cup. Dragons didn’t stir without cause.

  Across the table, Prince Aemond watched his parents’ silent exchange, his jaw working. Rhaenys, oblivious beside Corlys, laughed at some jape, but her free hand gripped her betrothed’s arm a little too tightly.

  Aegon and Aemma slipped back into the hall through a servants’ entrance, their boots dusty from the lower corridors. No one remarked on their absence, too distracted by wine and the lingering tension.

  "You won’t tell anyone?" Aegon murmured as they neared the Arryn contingent.

  Aemma shook her head, though her gaze lingered on his hands. "Not if you show me the tunnels again tomorrow."

  He nodded. Smart girl.

  She curtsied with exaggerated formality. "Goodnight, cousin."

  "Sleep well," he said, and meant it.

  Daemon sprawled across his bed, one arm dangling over the side, his snores filling the room. Aegon sat on the edge of his own mattress, staring at his palms.

  The vision, Valyria, burned behind his eyelids. And the dragons...

  They felt it too.

  The morning came clear and bright, with the sea air fresh against the rising sun. The wedding ceremony had been grand the day before, Rhaenys Targaryen, wed to Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, Lord of Driftmark. Lords from every corner of the realm had gathered to witness it, their banners flapping against the salt-heavy wind of Dragonstone. The feast that followed lasted deep into the night, and word around the castle was that it would continue for another seven days in celebration. Food, wine, and song flowed freely through the halls.

  But Aegon had grown weary of the noise and the press of noble bodies. He had risen early, slipping from his chambers before anyone else in his hall had stirred. The beach was quiet, save for the rhythmic crash of the waves and the call of gulls overhead.

  The sea wind blew against his silver hair as he walked alone along the shore. The sand was cool beneath his feet, the damp grains shifting slightly with each step. He liked it here, the vastness of the sea, the openness of it. No courtly expectations. No stares.

  “Aegon!”

  He turned at the sound of his name. Rhaenys, dressed simply in a flowing tunic of deep blue, was jogging across the sand toward him. Her long black hair, streaked with silver at the ends, flowed behind her. She was smiling, though slightly out of breath.

  He stopped and waited for her to catch up.

  “You’re going to get me in trouble,” she said between breaths, grinning as she came to a halt beside him.

  Aegon tilted his head. “Why? Because we might get caught in a scandal if Lord Corlys discovers that his new pretty wife was seen with another man on the beach?”

  Rhaenys blinked, then burst into laughter. The sound echoed across the shore, surprising even a few gulls into flight.

  “Still so humorous,” she said once she caught her breath again. “Though, of course, it would be a scandal,” she added, putting on a mock-serious tone. “A newlywed noble lady sneaking off to the beach with a man.”

  “A six-year-old man,” Aegon reminded, deadpan.

  “Exactly!” She giggled again, eyes twinkling. “What a dreadful tale for the maesters to record.”

  They walked in silence for a few paces, the tide lapping gently just beyond their reach.

  “Guess you’ll be living in Driftmark now,” he said quietly.

  Rhaenys glanced at him, brow raised. “Why? Already missing me?”

  “Yup,” Aegon replied without hesitation. “Your absence will be very much noted. The feasts will be quieter. The jokes will echo unappreciated through empty halls.”

  She gave him a fond look, half-amused, half-soft. “You really are something.”

  “Speaking of which—” Aegon pulled a folded parchment from his belt. “A gift.”

  Rhaenys took it with some surprise. She opened it carefully, her brow lifting further as she read the first few lines.

  “Twenty jokes?” she asked.

  “Twenty jokes I made. You can read them anytime. If Driftmark gets too quiet.”

  Rhaenys stared at the parchment for a long moment, then folded it again with care and tucked it into her sleeve. “Thank you, Aegon. Truly. I’ll keep it close.”

  Before he could reply, the distant sound of a bell rang from the castle, followed by the echo of a voice.

  “My lady!” a maid called out from the edge of the beach. “Breakfast has begun, Lord Corlys is asking for you.”

  Rhaenys sighed. “Duty calls.”

  They turned back toward the winding path leading up the rocky slope of Dragonstone. As they began the slow climb, Aegon glanced back once at the waves crashing behind them, committing the scene to memory.

  The warm water lapped against Aegon's skin as he reclined in the copper tub, steam curling in the quiet solitude of the royal baths. Several weeks had passed since Rhaenys' wedding to Corlys Velaryon - an event that had seen the princess officially relocated to Driftmark, leaving King's Landing noticeably quieter.

  Aegon's fingers traced idle patterns across the water's surface as his thoughts drifted to the wedding festivities. He could still picture Aemma Arryn's honey-brown hair catching the torchlight as she'd dragged him through Dragonstone's shadowed corridors. The girl had been persistent in her attempts to continue their unlikely friendship even after the celebrations ended, proposing they exchange letters.

  As if her parents would allow that, he mused. The Arryns had made their displeasure clear enough - their daughter associating with a thirdborn prince, no matter how precocious, was hardly advantageous. He'd seen the way Lady Arryn's mouth had pinched whenever Aemma sought him out, how Lord Arryn had quickly invented reasons to pull his daughter away.

  Still, the memory brought a faint smirk to his lips. Aemma had been... refreshing. Unlike the simpering noble children who treated him with either condescension or false flattery, she'd simply seen him as a playmate. No hidden agendas, no careful calculations - just childish curiosity and a shared desire to escape the stifling formality of court.

  He raised his right hand, palm upturned, and focused on the familiar pinch beneath his skin.

  [Blood and Flame Awakening] activated without visible cuts, just the internal sting of sacrifice as his own blood ignited within his veins. A wisp of orange flame flickered above his palm for three seconds before dissipating, the steam around it hissing.

  Longer than yesterday.

  Aegon had meticulously tested the limits of his [Blood and Flame Awakening] trait through weeks of clandestine experiments.

  He'd discovered that a single drop of internally sacrificed blood could produce a brief spark capable of lighting a candle, while five drops generated a sustained flame hot enough to melt wax. A thimble's worth of blood, however, unleashed a roaring burst that could scorch wood and leave lasting burns.

  The flames remained frustratingly tied to instinct rather than conscious will, a stray flinch could send fire spiraling unpredictably across a room, and his emotional state directly influenced their behavior. Anger produced wild, spreading flares that threatened to escape his control, while calm focus yielded steadier but noticeably weaker flames.

  Yet the trait held two crucial advantages: the internal blood sacrifice left no external wounds or evidence, and the unnatural flames resisted immediate extinguishing, continuing to burn for two full seconds even when submerged underwater, a property that might prove invaluable in future battles.

  Now, alone, he checked his reserves:

  [EXP 41,237]

  Time to upgrade.

  He focused on the Class Tree, its crystalline branches shimmering in his mind’s eye. The [Nimble Rascal] and [Gluttonous Child] branches glowed steadily at Level 10. The [Heir of Old Valyria] branch, still fresh, pulsed with potential.

  Upgrade.

  He selected the class and willed the EXP forward.

  [–15,000 EXP]

  [ Heir of Old Valyria: Level 1 → Level 6 ]

  [EXP 26,237]

  A rush of heat flooded his veins, not painful, but alive, like embers igniting beneath his skin. His fingers twitched, and for a heartbeat, the water around them steamed, bubbles forming before vanishing just as quickly.