{A/N: I have added two new Auxiliary chapters; "Valyrian Army Structure and Legion Organization" and "The Three Orders of Valyria".
I also edited the chapter for "Dragons, Great Dragons, and their Differences", just mainly the first part. I took heavy inspiration from David Lightbringer's video on his theorized Dragon types in ASOIAF.}
[Evening, Valyrian Fort of Naath, 187 AD / 85 AC]
The hearth burns low in the chamber of dark stone, its orange glow washing over the etched obsidian tiles and casting shadows across the polished floor. Embers crackle, reflecting off blackened steel sconces. The room smells of old parchment burning wood and perfume.
Balthagar Draceryos sits beside the hearth, his shoulders broad beneath the black robes. A silence heavier than iron hung in the air. His golden-red eyes, once serene, now a calm storm; patient and powerful.
When the door opens, it does not creak. Lady Oresa, the Dark Mistress of the Order of Shadows, steps through with the elegance of a whisper. Her veil was silken midnight, but she lifted it slowly as she approaches, revealing the calm lines of her face, ageless, sharp, beautiful in a way that was almost unnatural. Her eyes, shadowed by wisdom and sorrow, fixed on him.
"You called me, my prince," she says softly.
He did not look up. "I did."
She came closer, stepping into the light of the hearth. "You have not spoken of Qarth. You returned changed. Even your silence carries weight."
"I did not just return," he replies, voice low. "I survived and I learned."
Lady Oresa inclines her head. "I will not ask what happened in the House of the Undying. But I hope, one day, you will remember my words. The ones I gave you as a boy. The ones I give you now. And those I may yet give, if you will allow me."
He finally looks at her. "Your words... kept me alive, and taught me many things. That will have to be enough."
Her voice softens. "You were always strong. A prodigy even among the gifted. The kind born once in a thousand years. Magic followed you even then. Now... it surrounds you. I feel it. Like the world bends toward you, not the other way around."
Balthagar's eyes returns to the flame. "You are not wrong."
Oresa steps closer, her hands folding gently before her. "So, what happened?"
A long pause. Then:
"I saw them."
Her voice tightens. "Your family?"
He nods slowly. "My father. Weakened... bones sharp beneath skin. My brother, a breath from death. And my mother..." His voice heavier. "...barely alive. Whispering my name."
The fire flared. A gust of heat surged through the chamber as the flames danced unnaturally high. Shadows recoiled, twisting. The rune-laced ring on his hand hummed faintly.
Lady Oresa steps forward, reached out gently, and placed her hands on his.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I should have seen something. I should have acted."
"You could not have known," he says, his voice now a hollow murmur. "Even if you, the Grand Master of the Blood Dragon, and the Fire Mistress had joined me... I am not sure it would have changed anything."
He pulls his hands away, flexing them as if to recall the memory. "When I walked into the House of the Undying, they were gathered, thirty of them. Frail men with lips stained blue, drunk on their own madness and Shade of the Evening. Goblets still full on the table. Their ritual had failed, or nearly so. I think... they tried to steal something from my family."
"Power?" Oresa asks.
"Souls," he says flatly. "Or what remains after the flesh fades."
He steps towards the hearth, and the flames bowed to him as if called. "They were dying already. The ritual left them weak. The power they summoned devoured their vitality. I walked into the chamber unnoticed, blade drawn, and rage filled me."
Lady Oresa was quiet. There was no comfort in her eyes, only shared pain. "You carry it well... too well."
"I will carry worse," he replies. "My plans demand it."
The fire began to settle, returning to its quiet crackle. The shadows eased.
Lady Oresa's voice came soft, but resolute. "Then walk the path with eyes wide, Balthagar."
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[Three Days Later, Approaching Jhala, Summer Isles - 187 AD / 85 AC]
The sea glittered beneath the midday sun, calm as molten glass, the air rich with the scent of salt. Eleven ships carved through the blue, banners of House Draceryos rippling atop their masts. Upon the lead ship, a Man O' War of House Draceryos named Sea Dragon, Balthagar stood silent on the deck, his gaze fixed upon the vast green silhouette of Jhala, the largest of the Summer Isles.
Azantyos flew above, casting a long shadow over the water. His gleaming metallic scales shimmered, wings wide as castles. Behind him, the form of Aegovax followed, wings slicing the air like razors.
Ahead, the island swelled in detail, rolling jungle hills, sheer cliffs, rivers veining toward the sea. They approached the southern coast, near the Sweet Lotus Vale, where the city of Ebonhead rose from the mouth of the river.
The city was carved from native stone, white, grey, and pale gold, walls flowered with vines and purple banners fluttering above the spires. The banner of House Qhara flew high: a purple lotus with crossing spears on a white field.
Balthagar's eyes narrows. He had not seen this coast since he was a boy.
Vaelys Belaerys steps beside him. "They've changed much."
Balthagar nods.
As they dock, Summer Islander guards in polished bronze scaled armor stood at the ready, some with bows, quivers and daggers, others at the front with goldenheart wood spears tipped with forged iron blades. Their armor also bore vibrant cloth sashes and feathered capes, and their formation parted with discipline.
Princess Nalla Qhara awaited them at the harbor steps, standing tall despite her age. Her skin was rich brown, her white hair braided down her back and bound in gold rings. Her robes were flowing silk, deep violet and pearl-white, and her staff bore her house crest.
She bows her head, a formal gesture of honor.
Balthagar nods in return, the bare minimum a Great Dragonlord would offer.
"Prince Balthagar," she said warmly, her voice low and regal. "You've grown into your fire."
She smiles gently. "Come closer, Prince, let me look upon the heir of Valyria."
As Balthagar approaches closer to her, she says "You carry your father's silence... but not his mercy."
"And you still wield grace like a blade," Balthagar replies.
She laughs softly, then gestures. "Come. The city awaits."
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[The Next Morning, Palace of House Qhara, Lotus Courtyard]
The Lotus Courtyard was a place of beauty and peace. White walls curved around still ponds filled with blooming lotus flowers. Silken sunshades stretched across wooden beams, casting golden light on the courtyard floor. The scent of fruit, incense, and spice lingered in the air.
Balthagar sat across from Princess Nalla. Beside her was her heir, a woman in her fifties with high cheekbones and quiet eyes. Vaelys Belaerys stood beside his prince and nephew.
"You've increased your patrols," Balthagar says, eyes scanning the movement beyond the garden walls.
Nalla nods. "We have had reports, pirates, slavers, corsairs.. The old peace is breaking. Even Omboru and Walano stir. And House Xo of the Red Flower Vale... they have begun their marches again."
Balthagar leaned forward. "Then now is the time to abandon tradition."
The air stilled, the two princesses knew what Balthagar meant. People of the Summer Isles do not fight wars, they do not partake in it, majority if not all of them do not. Although there are rare cases of wars or battles breaking out.
Instead, the Summer Islanders choose warriors from each side to battle it out, and those who lose get some choices about their future, most choose exile.
"I come not with deception or false smiles," said . "The world will burn or rise. I intend for it to rise. Under my rule, my empire will stretch across oceans. You can be a part of that, your house elevated as rulers of Jhala. Or you can be an obstacle."
Nalla stares. "You speak like a conqueror."
"I am," he says plainly.
She exhales. "You are not the boy I knew."
"I remember you," Balthagar says. "You traded with my father and grandfather. You were an associate of theirs. That earns you my respect. But not my restraint."
Nalla's voice was calm. "Even the Valyrian Freehold, in its prime, never conquered the Summer Isles. They said we were fractured... not worth the effort. Your forebears preferred our goldenheart bows, our beautiful waters and islands, and among other things, not our thrones."
"The Dragonlords of old were short-sighted," Balthagar said. "They feared chaos. I will master it."
She blinks slowly. "You are young. There is too much fire in you, I fear it might one day consume you and everyone else."
He points to her. "Unify and rule Jhala. And do so under the flame of Valyria."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then I return with the so called fire you speak of, and no lotus will bloom again."
Silence. Her daughter's eyes drops to the floor.
Then, Nalla rises. "Then perhaps it is time... for the Summer Isles to bend, not in chains, but in choice."
Balthagar stands with her.
"All must choose a side," he says. "Before the storm chooses for them."