[Zathari, Jhala – Three Days After the Fall of Zathari | 187 AD / 85 AC]
The scent of death and charred wood still lingered faintly over Zathari, carried by a humid breeze from the south. Though the fires had died and the screams long faded, the memory of conquest hung thick in the air, a silent presence the city could not escape. Its people remained subdued, eyes cast downward, lips trembling in fear. They had witnessed horror, not merely an army of Valyrians or two dragons circling overhead like gods of death… but one man, a force unto himself. They saw a dragon cloaked in flesh, standing alone against hundreds. They saw Balthagar Draceryos.
He did not falter. He did not fall.
And now, that very man sat cross-legged atop a high hill overlooking the city. Zathari, the heart of Red Flower Vale, lay below him like a humbled offering. Behind him, the blackened slopes bore scars of fire and magic, scars carved by one who had descended like a storm.
Azantyos slumbered a short distance away, curled atop a nearby rise, his vast frame glinting under the dawn sun. The Great Dragon's dark magma-like scales shimmered faintly, casting flickers of light upon the hilltop like scattered embers. But Balthagar's eyes were shut. His breath steady.
He meditated.
Pain radiated through his insides, not from visible wounds, but the ache of what had been pushed too far. Force Rage, Force Lightning, Force Telekinesis, Force Drain. He had wielded them all together, at full strength. His heart had thundered like a war drum. His veins had nearly seared. Without the Ritual of Transformation, he would have collapsed. He might have died.
"The dark side is strength… but strength misused is ruin," he whispered, the words stolen by the wind.
Ancient Sith gestures flowed through his fingers, delicate and controlled. He drew the Force inward, not to destroy, but to mend. Sith healing was always a paradox, an unnatural act born of hatred and will. The cold heat of power sank into his bones. His muscles eased. His breath became deeper, more measured.
Inside him, the Holocron stirred. It never spoke in words, but pressed against his mind with locked vaults of layered knowledge.
"It gives only when earned," he murmured.
It was not a gift, but a test. A crucible. The teachings of the Sith were never handed down, they were conquered, seized by those worthy of them. He recalled the legends of Darth Vitiate, Tenebrae, the closest any Sith had come to immortality… and even he, was broken in the end. True immortality had never been achieved.
Perhaps immortality was not a matter of one grand revelation… but of layers. Biological, magical, philosophical. A puzzle unsolved because it was too simple, or too vast.
"And so, I will solve it."
A grin ghosted across his lips. He was only eighteen name days old, yet already a legend. The heir of Aurion. The shadow reborn in fire. When he returns to Martivia, when he sits upon the throne he would forge with his own hands, nothing would be beyond him. Not death. Not time.
And so, he meditated, he healed, and grew in strength. And the world trembled, unaware that the dragon had only begun to stir.
[Zathari Palace – Later That Day]
The palace of House Xho had been emptied of its soul. Tapestries torn down. Thrones of goldenheart wood splintered. Every sigil and banner burned away. In its place rose obsidian reliefs of the Draceryos sigil, red and gold, the winged flame of Valyria and the banners of House Qhara. The throne room, once dim and narrow, had been cleared. A great circular table stood at its center, a stretched leather map of the Summer Isles laid across it.
Balthagar stood at its head, cloaked in his reforged armor, Stormbringer sheathed to his left side. Lord Vaelys Belaerys stood beside him, composed and quiet. The Dark Mistress lingered like a shadow in her dark robes. Princess Nalla Qhara watched from the side, unreadable.
The three commanders, Vaelar Raelnaris, Aenor Celnaeros, and Aegalon Dalreos, flanked the table, each armored and alert. With them stood four Flamecallers and three Bloodcallers. Seven powerful mages of war and healing.
Ten ships, six galleons and four war galleys had already docked in the port of Zathari, their hulls trimmed in dark-forged steel. A whole Valyrian Legion, 5,200 strong, minus the cavalry, marched from the ships in quiet formation. Soon the Dragon-Guards took their positions and Dragon-Hunters took to the towers. Order reigned beneath the smoke-stained sky.
Balthagar places a grey dragon marker upon Jhala, then another smaller one on Tall Trees Town.
"The people of Tall Trees remember," he says in High Valyrian. "They never severed their loyalty. They remember who gave them steel and fire."
His eyes met Nalla's. She understood the unspoken words. House Draceryos and House Xhar, those ties ran deeper than even the ones with her house.
He moved ships across the map, lines of fire, arcs of conquest.
"Lord Maerys Kostagar will arrive soon with forty ships. Two Man o' Wars among them. He will land on the eastern coast of Ombaru." He turns to Aenor and Aegalon. "You two will take the ships docked here, circle south and west, then strike the western shore. We form the jaws. When Lord Kostagar lands, we close them."
Aenor asks, "And if Ombaru has time to raise its walls?"
"They won't, no wall can stop us," Balthagar says. "You land fast, establish a foothold. When Lord Kostagar moves, I will descend on Azantyos."
He points at the mages. "Two Flamecallers and two Bloodcallers. One pair for each commander. You will ward them, guide them. No failure."
Four of the mages step forward, bow, and align themselves beside their assigned commander.
Balthagar picks up a sealed scroll and hands it to Aenor. "Take a fast sloop from the port. Have some of our men disguised and the Summer Islanders who fought with us sail for Tall Trees Town on the sloop. Make sure they deliver this to Prince Daba Xhar. No matter what, it is not to be opened." He looks at the Flamecaller who will follow Aenor and continues, "Have a couple of your mages go on the sloop, ensure they place it in his hand."
The Flamecaller bows and Aenor raises his fist to his chest, then extended his arm palm-down, the Valyrian salute, "By Vermax's will, it shall be done."
Balthagar turns to Vaelar Raelnaris. "You remain in Zathari. Ensure order and stability."
He gestures to the last Bloodcaller and the two remaining Flamecallers. "Aid him. Quell unrest before it stirs."
With only Lord Vaelys, the Dark Mistress, and Princess Nalla remaining, Balthagar places a red dragon figure on Lotus Port, then another on Koj.
Nalla's brow lifts. "Koj is no threat. House Xaq builds ships, not armies."
"Which makes them more dangerous," Balthagar replied. "Most Swan Ships are born in Koj's yards. If we take Koj, we hold their future by the keel."
He leans closer. "Let them choose peace… or fire."
[Central Jhala Highlands - Two Days Later]
The hills of Jhala were jagged and wild, sharp green against the sea-blown sky. Upon one peak, Balthagar and Lord Vaelys Belaerys stood beside their dragons, gazing southward.
For the past hour, they had flown and scouted, until they found it. A sloped plateau on the mountainside, half-cliff, half-ledge. Flat enough for a foundation. High enough to see every approach. The perfect site.
"Here," Balthagar says. "The Valyrian Fort shall rise. It will guard both land and sea."
Lord Vaelys nods, eyes scanning the range. "It's well-positioned. The southern coast is visible, as it the northern coast, and the Summer Islanders have already begun clearing ground for south, for a port. The mages say it will be perfect, molding the stones to form a large path from the port all the way to this plateau.'
The initial plan had called for a direct pathway up the mountain, ten men wide from base to summit, but it would take too long, and the incline too harsh. Instead, Balthagar had devised a switchback route; A road would begin south of the mountain's base. A town would be built upon a lower ridge to support a small garrison and for a rest stop, where taverns and shop will be built. Then a winding pathway would ascend northeast, linking port, town, and fortress in a defensive triangle.
Balthagar gestures towards Aegovax, Lord Belaery's golden Dragon. "You should oversee the construction, Uncle. The fire mages would need a Dragon to shape it."
Lord Vaelys nods. "It shall be done."
[Eastern Sea Approaches of Ombaru - Two Days Later, Early Morning]
Mist clung to the waves as forty-one ships; 15 galleons, 10 war galleys, and the rest are large carracks and frigates, they sailed through dawn, their sails dark and quiet. At the front sailed a Man O' War named the, Stormborn, trimmed in obsidian, banners of House Kostagar flapping in the breeze.
Lord Maerys Kostagar stood at its prow, helm tucked beneath his arm, his violet gaze fixed on the rising coastline of Ombaru. Jagged rocks, high cliffs, dense trees beyond.
He turns to his master-at-arms. "Signal the line. No horns. No drums. Prepare to land in silence."
Then he descends below deck, enters the candle chamber, and places both hands on the obsidian rim of the Glass Candle.
[Zathari, Stone Tower – Minutes Later]
The candle flared.
Balthagar's eyes open. No words were spoken. He turns at once and descends the tower. The palace was silent as he passed through its halls.
Azantyos waited below. Balthagar mounted, the Great Dragon stirring as if summoned by thought alone.
With a single roar and rush of wings, they rose into the clouds, toward Ombaru.
[Western Shoreline of Ombaru - Hours Later]
Aegalon Dalreos stood atop a rocky ledge, watching the waves break against the beach. Behind him, Dragonguards spread out, securing the area. Dragonhunters vanished into the jungle's edge. Two mages whispered incantations, flames coiling around their hands.
Then the sky changed.
A roar split the heavens.
Azantyos descended like a hammer of judgment, wings vast, breath molten. Sand and wind surged outward as he landed.
Balthagar steps down, black cloak trailing, eyes sharp.
"Report."
Aegalon salutes. "Secure. No scouts. No resistance. Mapping has begun."
Balthagar nods, then turns toward the sea. In the far shimmer of horizon, black sails began to appear, Lord Kostagar had arrived.
He drew in breath, his voice quiet.
"Then it begins."