[Sweet Lotus Vale, Jhala - 187 AD / 85 AC]
The scent of blooming lotuses drifts on the morning breeze as the sun's rays glimmers atop the clear waters around Ebonhead in golden light. In the open hall atop the Sweet Lotus Vale, morning conversation resumes. Princess Nalla Qhara sits poised across from the Prince of Valyria, her light robes woven with bright orchid thread, her posture straight, yet uncertain.
She watches him closely. "Your presence has been unsettling me since we met, Prince Balthagar," she says, careful but firm.
Lord Vaelys Belaerys shifts beside him, his violet eyes narrowing, tone hardening. "Choose your words with care, Princess."
Balthagar lifts a hand, calm and still. "Let her speak, uncle." His voice carries no heat, only finality.
Princess Nalla exhales slowly. "You are said to be eighteen name days... but you stand taller than any islander warrior, built like a man twice your age. Your face bears the youth of one barely into his second decade, yet your eyes-" she hesitates, then says plainly, "-they devour. They burn. Like a flame held back by skin… it is unnatural…"
Balthagar's lips turns faintly upward. "And yet you sit across from me, unburned."
"I see a man carved by fire and shadow," she says. "It is not natural."
"Nor was Valyria," he replied.
She says nothing more. Silence fell, thick and hot like the summer air.
At last, she leans forward and declares, "I will swear my oath. My house shall bend the knee to the Draceryos."
Balthagar inclines his head. "Then let it be known that House Qhara of Jhala now stands beneath the Flame of Valyria. Your people may keep their traditions, their songs, their spirits... but know this, all matters of military, foreign trade, and the higher arts, magic, belong to Valyria. And Valyria answers to me."
She nods. "Understood."
Balthagar stands then. "Sworn oaths, however, are wind without blood. They fade when men die."
Her daughter, seated beside her, tensed. Young, proud, fierce. "And what do you mean by that?"
"Zama," Princess Nalla warns.
But Balthagar had already answered. "I speak of blood oaths, Princess. Your mother's blood, offered in ritual, so her line remains bound. Not by trust... but by magic and blood. I may trust her. I do not know what grows in her grandchildren's hearts. This ensures they never grow traitorous."
Zama Qhara stands abruptly, but her mother raises a hand, silencing her without a word. After a long breath, Princess Nalla rose as well. "Then let it be done."
The ritual was simple but absolute. A shallow cut across her palm. Balthagar's own blood offered in return. The ancient tongue spoke through him, Valyrian twisted by sorcery, and the air grew still, charged, humming with unseen power.
The blood ran down the black steel basin etched with Draceryos runes. A soft red glow pulsed. A hiss escaped the stone beneath their feet. The pact was sealed. Not with just with ink, but also with magic.
[Palace of Qhara, Sweet Lotus Vale - 187 AD / 85 AC]
The court of House Qhara gathered the next day beneath a sky layered in pearl-white clouds, unaware of what shadows moved beneath them.
The palace was modest by the standards of the Essosi or Westerosi, but tall and ornate for Summer Islander nobility. Drapes of dyed barkcloth hung along the wide archways, vibrant purples and greens rippling in the wind. The court chamber was carved from smooth stone, with decorations and supports made perfectly of goldenheart and ebony wood .
Balthagar Draceryos now sat on the highest dais of the hall, his reforged dragonsteel ancestral armor faintly glimmering. His cloak draped over his shoulders, dark and sewed with crimson-gold threads. On his left stood Lord Vaelys Belaerys, armored in dark golden dragonsteel traced with Valyrian glyphs, his violet eyes sharp beneath his highbrow. On Balthagar's right sat Princess Nalla, her throne lower by one step, by design.
In the distant shadows, veiled and still, stood the Dark Mistress. Cloaked in black, she remained unseen by all but one. Her presence did not breathe. It simply watched.
Above the palace flew two shadows vast and ancient. One was golden and robust, Aegovax, roaring once to stir the wind. The other, Azantyos, flew higher and is far larger than Aegovax, his scales shining like darkened metal under the sun.
The gathered nobles and chieftains of the Sweet Lotus Vale, those loyal to House Qhara, stood in uneasy silence. They were proud men and women, but they were not fools. Valyria had returned, and it stared them in the face.
Princess Nalla rose to address them. "People of the Sweet Lotus Vale. I have sworn my house to Valyria. House Draceryos rules Valyria's rebirth. I have done this not in weakness, but in wisdom. Our traditions shall live on. Our songs shall still be sung. But the world shifts, and we must not be washed away with it."
She turned her gaze on the hall. "We shall maintain our local guard, and our warriors shall defend our lands. But we will no longer hoard spears. There will be no private armies. Foreign trade will henceforth pass through Valyria's hands for inspection before we proceed. Our goods will enrich our island, but no longer feed enemies of Valyria."
A low rumble of discomfort rolled through the court.
Then came a roar. Not from man, but beast of legends.
The court shuddered as Azantyos roared once more, far more powerful, fire flaring from his nostrils above the roof.
Balthagar stood.
When he spoke, it was like iron dragged over embers, quiet, slow, but burning. "This is an opportunity," he says. "Not a collar. Jhala may rise with us, or be crushed by the world's turning. You speak of legacy? Then build one worth remembering. For your children. For your children's children. Let them inherit strength, not ruins."
He sat again. The room held its breath.
[Private Council Room, Palace of Qhara - That Night]
The candlelight danced gently in the private council chamber, its polished wood walls lined with Summer Island tapestries and maps. Balthagar sat at the head of the table, Lord Belaerys to his right, and across from him, Princess Nalla, her daughter Zama, and an aged advisor named Kofano, bent-backed and white-bearded, but sharp of mind and tongue. Beside the table, veiled and shadow-bound, the Dark Mistress stood quiet.
Balthagar's tone is measured, commanding. "Your house has always ensured that that there was prosperous relationship with ours. Even when the Freehold fractured. Your trade with my grandfather and father is remembered. But understand, our next steps are already in motion."
He turned to Kofano and Princes Nalla. "You remember Walano. Tall Trees Town."
Nalla nods. "The Mad Dragon's battle."
"My grandfather, Daekar Draceryos, the Mad Dragon, on his voyage to the west, heading for the Summer Isles, came upon a pirate fleet poised to sack the harbor. He burned their ships and left their bones for the gulls. Since then, House Xhar of Walano has welcomed us openly. Gems, incense, fruit, and above all, ebony wood for our ships have been built with their bounty."
"I will go to Walano next," he said. "And I believe Prince Daba Xhar will greet me with eagerness, not hesitation."
His words turned colder. "As for the Red Flower Vale, House Xho, I will deal with them personally. Before all. Before your people. Before the world. They will know what it means to defy."
The Dark Mistress shifted slightly but said nothing.
Lord Vaelys's face darkened. He remained silent.
When the hall had emptied, and only shadows remained, Vaelys spoke. "Have you gone mad?"
Balthagar, half-armored and facing a glass candle burning red on the table, did not turn.
"You mean to face them alone?"
"I mean to show them."
Vaelys slammed his gauntlet on the stone table. "You are no god. Even if they are not an army, you are not immortal!"
Balthagar turned slowly, shadows licking his face. "Then they will see what I am."
Before words became fire, the Dark Mistress spoke, her voice a velvet blade. "Peace, both of you. My prince, your plan will hold. My shadows will be nearby. As will the mages, and so will your uncle, and the dragons. You are not alone."
Balthagar nodded once, silently.
[Chamber of Glass, Palace of Qhara, Moments Later]
The room is dark as all candles were doused, save one. A glass candle, flickering with a red flame, stood tall at the center of a runed table. Balthagar closes his eyes and reaches out.
A moment passed.
Then the fire flared and the face of Lord Kostagar appears, in the ethereal smokiness of the Glass Candle and he answers, "My prince?"
"Lord Kostagar," Balthagar says, "I know the past couple of moons have been hard. But harder still is the work yet to come. Soon, Jhala will fall into place. When I finish with House Xho, I will sail for Walano and speak with Prince Daba. We will bring the isles into the fold."
Lord Kostagar nods, and asks "What about Omboru? We have no ties to them."
"They will not bend, they are too fractured. So we will break them and conquer." says Balthagar, "I will need ships, men, mages, enough fire to tame the Summer Isles."
The flame pulsed once more, "As you command my prince."
And the connection ended.